Heart and Service
by PhantomProducer
Summary: After the end of a love affair gone wrong, Sir Steven Rogers has pledged himself to his work for his country. However, his heart and service are called upon to serve another. And she, in turn, may find herself giving the same back to him. Renaissance/Elizabethan era AU. Slow updates.
1. Prologue

Soft light from the tapers along the wall caused the apartments to glow, the outer room's fire burning down as the hours waned. The decanter of wine was pushed to one side, forgotten, the remnants of a simple meal also left behind. The low murmur of a baritone voice crept out from the inner chamber as one servant dared to creep in and take away the dinner plates, the obvious want for separation clear as the figure just beyond did not even turn at the sound of clinking plate and cup. Instead, the master of the chamber moved away from the bed within, his red-rimmed eyes focused upon the object in the corner, latching onto it and moving towards it hastily.

The man knelt at the prie-dieu, his large-framed body folding with deceptive grace as he did so. The blunt cut of his blond hair fell out of the combing it had been put into that morning, blue irises glimmering with more than candlelight as he took it upon himself to pray. Hands came together as his elbows planted on the armrest and he let out a shuddering breath. The rosary he often carried in his pocket was between his fingers, the beads passing as the prayers came tumbling over his lips. The familiar warmth of the Latin did not touch his soul as it normally did, but he still moved through the words, hoping to find solace along the way. There was little else to be done; the distractions of his duties could not keep him occupied, as night had fallen and the great court had gone to its rest for the evening. Though he was promised ale and forgetting by his closest friends, he had declined, his melancholy longing for nothing more than solitude and the silence of his rooms. The drinking and the other...activities, would be left to men of a better temperament than he.

At the foot of his bed were his boots, his jerkin and doublet crumpled upon the bedclothes. A mandilion of dark blue wool was spread beneath an abandoned baldric, the sword of his office laying haphazardly atop it. The state of his mind had been such that he had to shed the outer layers, shed all that had protected him during the day. The turmoil of his soul needed to be relieved, and so he loosened all until he was merely in his shirt and hose, no longer the illustrious Knight-Captain of the King's Guard.

There, he was simply Steven Rogers, his elevation nothing in that moment...as it was nothing to certain others.

The bitter thought would avail him nothing, he reminded himself harshly, turning his mind onto the solace he wished to find in his prayers.

 _Áve María, grátia plena. Dóminus técum. Benedícta tū in muliéribus, et benedíctus…_

He bowed his head, the hand holding the rosary coming up to rest against his forehead. Pain rippled across his skin as it pressed, but it did not register with him. He was too broken, too drained to even feel anything outside of his sorrow. Stumbling upon the praise to the most holy of women, he felt the new surge of tears press against his eyes, and he shut them swiftly. Gritting his teeth, he nearly growled out as his palm came back down, nearly slamming the beads against the rest.

The Mother of God had other appeals to listen to, he was sure, and intercession would be impossible at that point. For that day, what had happened was beyond his control, beyond his will to change or alter. Miles and miles away, he could do nothing but mourn the loss of his soul, choking down the sadness as he continued to dwell upon it.

She was marrying today. The love of his life, the other half of his heart, would be marrying a man that was not him. They would become bound in life and unto death to another, and he could do nothing but feel the ache in his chest and pray for comfort. All his hopes and wishes, his dreams for a future with her, had come crashing down around him. The troth she had pledged months ago did not soften the blow of the loss, nor did it assuage the rage and sorrow of his heart. The fact that she had been promised to the nobleman she'd been married to had been nothing to either of them, not when they had found love and joy in one another.

It should have meant more.

Though Sir Steven had been raised to a position high in the military order, a position that placed him close to the king himself and therefore placed him in his care, it was not enough. Lady Margaret Carter, fair of face but with dark eyes and brown curls spilling out of her hood on occasion, was higher still, the daughter of the Marquess of Hampstead. He was not worthy of her, in her father's eyes; hardly any man was, but such was the thought of any father with a well-formed daughter. Witty, vivacious, lovely Margaret had been promised in marriage to the eldest son of the Duke of Brookland for years, long enough that she had never thought the wedding would ever take place. Brought to court to prepare her (for either that future or some other, according to her mother), she had crossed the path of the Knight-Captain, looking beyond the title to the man within, to Steven. Barriers had been passed that no other had passed before, and he had thought that she would be the only one to ever do so. He aspired to love her, aspired to marry her, sweet kisses stolen and whispered promises made in the dark.

That joy lasted until her father had come to whisk her away, the betrothal finalized and the contracts ready to sign.

Steven had presented his suit the minute he received a note she'd sent him in her distress, forbidden to leave once the older man had learned of their tryst. The Knight-Captain was bound and determined to have Lady Margaret as his wife, and had actually made the desperate flight from the training yards through the court to the family apartments to do so. Alas, he failed to find Margaret there; only the Marquess in all his red-faced fury stood in the midst of frenzied packing. No amount of pleading, negotiating, or promises could sway him, and the man, as a senior member of the King's Council, threatened to make his displeasure known to His Majesty. His daughter would suffer for the foolish knight's pursuit of her, and he would see him ruined as well. Up until the last hour did Steven attempt to bargain and make his case, nearly on his knees before the great lord.

In the end, it was Margaret who persuaded him to leave off his petitioning. With tears in her eyes, she begged him not to ruin himself, not for her sake. She would carry her love for him in her heart, but it would be foolish to fight against the inevitable. She had been meant for marriage to a duke's heir, and sadly, that was not Steven. Too shocked and too broken at her capitulation, he had barely felt the kiss good-bye on his cheek, his eyes set upon the train of wagons and the carriage that bore her away.

Over a fortnight had passed since that day, not a day going by that did not feel as though his heart had been rent in twain. He would inspect his troops, would engage in sparring, would attend councils and meetings with the king, but nothing could fully remove him from the fact that Lady Margaret was taken farther and farther away from him. Not even with His Majesty's offer to speak with the lady's father himself could do much. The marquess would not approve, and more to the point, _she_ would not allow Steven to do so.

She had likened it to going to war, an outcome she did not desire in the least. And so, he was left as he was then. Final letters were passed in secret, promises to care for one another until the end of their days locked away in a chest and pushed beneath his bed.

And now, now the day had arrived, the king having been informed of it discreetly a few days prior and a proxy granted to stand in his place as the ceremony went through. His Majesty was kind enough to inform his Knight-Captain of it in private, allowed him to take some time to himself, but Steven had refused, thinking his work would aid him.

Ultimately, that had failed. It would be likely that Steven would take the king's offer in the morning, absent himself for a time from the court. His father, at home upon their estate, would gladly welcome him home, welcome his input in surveying the farms surrounding their manor, and he himself would be away from all that reminded him of her.

Until then, he could only pray.

Long hours passed, the quiet of the court in the wee hours only broken by the change of the guard outside his rooms, the faint call of an owl hooting in the trees beyond his opened window. The mullioned glass showed nothing but the black outlines of trees, reflecting the light of the tapers that were growing lower and lower as he moved from one prayer to the next.

 _Áve María, grátia plena…Margaret, my Margaret…_

His Margaret, pledged to another man, given to accept another in her heart and her bed...the thought made a shiver of rage and distress shoot through him, and he nearly tore his rosary apart as he twisted it in his grip. It would do him no good to think of it, he pushed himself, and so he turned himself away from the notion of her taking another's kiss, another's touch. The bile in his stomach burned up into his throat, the image within his mind subsiding too slowly for his liking.

It wasn't until the blackness began to recede, the gray of dawn threading across the sky, that he felt himself jerk and become aware of his surroundings again. Somewhere within the third go-around of the rosary, he had fallen into a fitful doze, slumping over his prie-dieu. A servant, likely the one from the night before, was making quick work of stoking the fire. Likely the lad would come into the bedchamber and pull out fresh clothes for him, after setting out the washing water. Rising from the kneeler, Steven felt the creak in his knees, the exhaustion in his body almost causing him to topple over. Glancing over at the single mirror along the wall, he was not altogether stunned to see the dark circles beneath his eyes. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he laid his rosary down upon the armrest of the prie-dieu, moving to fetch his portable writing desk from the chest set at the end of his bed.

The king and his country would survive without him for a few days while he recuperated, he silently resolved, pulling out fresh parchment and a quill along with ink. Else, he was not sure he would survive himself.

Marvella would have its Knight-Captain back soon enough, after he gave Steven Rogers the chance to grieve and accept the truth of his reality. God help him.

* * *

 **A/N:**...So putting out the prologue of this took less time than I thought it would.

Yes, it is another AU put forth by yours truly. I hope the taste you've all gotten is enough to keep you intrigued. This AU will be taking place in a Renaissance/16th Century/Elizabethan-esque world, which is going to be quite a bit different from what we're all used to. Can't get the image of a jousting Steve out of my head for some reason...:P

And yes, it is yet another Steve/Holly story (Stolly, for those of you familiar with it, hey-oh!) for this section. For those hoping for Steve/Peggy, Steve/Sharon, or any other pairing...I will kindly direct you back to the main page. Otherwise...I hope you are all ready for this.

The title is inspired by "The Heart and Service", a sonnet by Sir Thomas Wyatt. I encourage you to read and enjoy it, if you haven't before.

Bear in mind, please, that while I will be researching along the way as I am writing, I am not an accredited historian. I will likely make mistakes as I attempt to write for a time period quite different from what I have been working with for these two. Also, please allow whatever differences I do make consciously; some will be for a reason. As well as that, please make allowances for the fact that I might accidentally let a contraction or two slip into the dialogue (which wasn't a common thing that happened during that time period). I will try to be accurate, but also I hope you'll be on-board with some of the alterations I do make.

Another point: I am not abandoning _Growing Pains_. I will be working on both of these stories, though there will be slow updates for each. I ask you all for your patience with that. :) I have a Twitter, where I will post notifications for updates, etc. My handle is PhanProTweets.

Finally, like with the bulk of my work, this story is UNBETA'ED. This is due to my schedule being different from others', which does not always allow for such things to occur. I edit and restructure my own work, and can only do my best.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other references made in the text.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next chapter!


	2. A Proposal

**Fifteen Months Later**

The harsh cold of winter had given way to spring, the green warming as summer rose and fell. It took another winter before the world would be tipped once again for Sir Steven Rogers, and it was no less unsettling than the other.

It had come, as many such tidings do, innocuously, and of seemingly low import. After morning prayers and breaking his fast, the Knight-Captain of the King's Guard had proceeded to armory, his main office occupied by several others. He and his lieutenants and sergeants had much to discuss, particularly as things had just started to shift back to the normal flow of events. At the beginning of March, the highest order of the knights of Marvella had been tasked with escorting Wanda, Princess of Sokovia, from the main coastal port commonly called the Mark. After receiving the young lady—not terribly tall, but fair of face and with an ethereal quality to her presence—at Malibu House, the King's personal manor, Sir Steven and the others had brought her on progress to the capital. There was much fanfare and gawking about them; many of the people of Marvella had wanted to catch a glimpse of the young woman, see her auburn hair and green eyes, and wonder at what sort of queen she would make.

To Sir Steven, it was merely a task to complete, though he made sure to always treat the princess with courtesy and geniality. However, she had since been installed in the Queen's Rooms of the Triskelion, the broad, three-sided palace set squarely in the center of the capital, and he in turn had one back to his typical duties. One of which was to test and train new recruits to the guard, and see whether they would need to be turned out or put into the general army. After delegating tasks to his sergeants, he gestured for his second in command to follow, insisting that he help with the training exercises down in the yard that day. The training yard, mere meters away from where the jousts took place during special holidays and celebrations, was generally filled with the sounds of slashing and clattering metal, wooden dummies and human sparring partners alike littering the space.

Two squires were selected to help the great men put on their armor, eager lads looking to impress these knights and one day win their own places out in the sands and enter the king's service. As such, they were eager as well to hear stories of battles and jousts past, something that the second in command, Sir James Barnes, was all too pleased to divulge. Sir Steven watched from the corner of his eye as the squire (a portly, young lad called Ned) asked to hear about any recent skirmishes. Being of a similar height to his blond counterpart, the darker-haired knight's bright eyes flashed with good humor as he spoke about a young lass he had encountered, a red-haired vixen who had given him such a challenge in her own form of combat only a few days' past. Rolling his eyes in good humor, Steven smirked inwardly as he spotted his squire, the fellow called Peter Parker, listened as intently as his friend. Perhaps the Knight-Captain should have done better to curb his compatriot's tongue—Buck, as he had been called since childhood, had to set an example, after all. But he cold not begrudge him, or the lads, the entertainment.

Besides, he was curious about his friend's exploits himself, though he would not say so aloud.

Just as Sir James was about to explain how the lady he'd come upon had bested him, and requested her reward, three loud knocks came at the door. As Ned had finished helping Sir James into his armor, he was bid to open the portal. Within stood another lad, one garbed in the royal livery of red and gold. He was a page of the king's household, and he requested entry.

When it was granted, Sir Steven raised his chin, bidding him to speak. What could the king want, so early in the morning? He'd had it on good authority that His Majesty had been up well past midnight, and despite morning prayers in the royal chapel, would likely have been abed at that hour.

The page bowed, his voice carrying as he delivered his message. "My lord, His Majesty wishes to speak with you."

Sir Steven's eyebrow rose a fraction, but he still managed to nod.

"Very well. I shall come directly." Stepping back from his personal page, he began to pull at the buckles of his armor himself, the breastplate removed and handed off. As each piece came away, he inclined his head to his second in command. "Sir James, see to it that the exercises begin. I will be back shortly."

Sir James bowed his head, the light clink of his armor echoing through the air. "Yes, sir."

Divested of his armor, Sir Steven fetched his dark blue mandilion, the ceremonial sword of his office strapped to his hip as well before he followed the page. From the armory through the long gallery they went, the throngs of courtiers growing the closer they got to the Great Hall. The very center of the Triskelion boasted the most glass windows of any palace in the kingdom, light coming in from all sides as the sun rose and fell. From that central hall, the remainder of the palace bled off on all sides, the northern end designated for the royal family. The page led him through the many people—fustians, furs, and silks alike pressing in on all sides, seemingly—to the large, arched entry of the throne room. The throne, a grand and golden chair outlined with the deepest red cloth and stenciled with the royal family's encircled heart in silvery-blue thread, was empty, meaning that the king wished for their meeting to be private. His supposition was proven correct when he was brought to the door that led to an antechamber, and then onto the king's apartments.

Ushered in, the page remained at the door as Sir Steven strode, the lack of voices telling him that he was truly meeting with the king on his own that morning. The outer drawing room, boasting portraits of past kings along the inner wall and a hand-painted globe by the mullioned window, was offset by the desk at the center, encumbered with papers and already having its royal owner seated behind it.

King Anthony, first of that name of the House of Stark, was occupied with a piece of parchment, a furrow coming to his brow as he retrieved a quill and began to scratch at whatever its contents were. Likely it was one of his personal designs; the king had a long had a knack for conceiving and building grand instruments of war, as well as even some new farming implements for his subjects. In another life, Sir Steven mused, he likely would have been carpenter, a builder and inventor of many things beyond even his own simple scope of imaginings.

Then again, perhaps he too would have been something different. As it was, Anthony was king, and Steven was the commander of his guard.

After completing his stroke, the king looked up then, dark eyes glimmering in amusement as his page appeared behind Sir Steven, announcing him properly to his sovereign before leaving the room entirely.

"Ah, there he is," King Anthony declared, setting the parchment and quill to one side. He rose from his gilded chair, the sumptuous finery of his doublet and hose easy enough to see. Running a beringed hand over his cropped dark hair, he inquired, "How fares the Knight-Captain of the King's Guard?"

Sir Steven bowed, his face set pleasantly enough. "I am well, Your Majesty, thank you."

"Very good." Anthony went on to stroke his trimmed beard, sidling across the room to a mirror hanging upon the wall. Tapping the point his beard had spiked to, he preempted Steven from asking any questions by posing another inquiry of his own. "Tell me, what think you of the spades look? Too much? Although I know your tendencies run towards full coverage."

He gestured at Sir Steven, his own dark blond beard trimmed close to his cheeks and chin, though no less full. It was acquired within the last year, lending him an older, mature air, despite the king knowing its origins and disliking it for that reason alone. For his part, the younger man merely smirked, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Then I believe you already have an idea of my opinion, Your Majesty," he dared to retort, the king chuckling under his breath and nodding. The brief moment of silence between them passed all too quickly, but Sir Steven would be remiss in letting the king distract them both with another seemingly arbitrary question. "May I ask why I have truly been summoned?"

"Indeed, you may," Anthony stated, tipping his hand to a set of chairs, turned before the fireplace at the far end of the room. Though it was spring, the last snow had only just melted away, and the heat of the flames was necessary. Seated on the plush cushioned seat, he waited as Sir Steven sat as well, bending a little to warm his hands before continuing, "We wished to thank you for your due diligence in escorting the Princess to us. We know managing such a train is no sinecure."

In truth, they both knew it was months of planning, of the king laying out the path and scheduling the stops his prospective bride-to-be would be making. As Knight-Captain, Sir Steven was required to ensure that his monarch's wishes were followed to the letter, which also meant he had to work with the lord chamberlain to set up the final entry to the palace as well as secure placements for the knights of the guard in the princess's train. It was a long, arduous process in which he had to make sure no knights of clashing clans walked beside each other in the procession, and that everything proceeded within the set time-frame of two weeks. It was exhausting, but it was done.

Aloud, he merely stated, "It was no trouble, Your Majesty. I was pleased to ensure the safety of your bride to her new court, or what shall be her court."

Anthony smiled wanly at that, the humor diminished as he mused upon the effort made. Yes, Princess Wanda was to be his bride, his second after the death of the queen nearly two years ago. Sir Steven let his gaze focus upon the flickering flames of the fire, knowing that his king was likely contemplating the circumstances of losing Queen Virginia, his love from his youth, and bringing in another to assume her place. He could not imagine what it would be like, himself; but the king had his children to think of, his kingdom's future to consider.

The knight's choices would not have to consider such things. Soon enough, though, the monarch was clearing his throat, sighing through his nose.

"And it is in that vein that I must continue." Rising, the king motioned for his knight-captain to remain seated, traveling over to the grand desk at the far end of the chamber and flitting through the parchments atop it. Finding the one that had been eluding him, he let out a low crow of triumph before coming back to the chairs and sitting down. Glancing at the march of words upon it, he reported mildly, "I have received a letter from your father, sir. It seems that you have not been diligent in your correspondence, so he has resorted to including me in the endeavor."

Steven grimaced, awkwardness filling him as his bright gaze latched onto the parchment. Though he and his father had maintained a good relationship since his mother had passed several years ago, their communication had been lacking for some time. It was entirely his fault, he knew; between the drilling, the reviews of his soldiers, and the most recent endeavor of escorting the Princess of Sokovia from her ship to the capital, he had found little time except for short notes here and there.

The fact that his father felt so neglected that he had to resort to writing the king, like the sovereign was a schoolmaster who must discipline an unruly child, grated upon him as well as shamed him.

"I do apologize, I, I have been..." he trailed off, unsure of how to phrase it. Anthony had no qualms about doing so for him.

"Busy, I am aware." A glimmer of humor laced through the king's dark eyes, but it had slipped away as he continued to peer at the letter. The contents, he knew, were likely to truly shake and jar the young man before him. He had to think of his own phrasing now. "I sent him a note to excuse the waylaid letter-writing, but he still insisted upon being heard. This latest missive, well...it is for the better that you are seated, sir."

Sir Steven's brow furrowed, and he reached out for the letter.

"What does he say, Your Majesty?" he asked, watching the king for his reaction. He was looking for the monarch's tells, which would reveal far more about the contents than his words could do. A brow twitched, his tongue clicked, and fidgeting fingers were clasped behind his back. What King Anthony had to tell him would not be pleasant, he could see, and so he braced himself inwardly as the sovereign drew in a deep breath.

"He wanted you to know that he has...procured a bride for you, like I have done, and asks you to be relieved of your duties for a fortnight, at least. To meet with her and her family."

A log in the fire crackled and popped, shifting down and letting sparks fly. Steven's eyes stared up at his king, shock flooding through him and stemming his speech for several long seconds.

Soon enough, he was forcing his tongue to move, and he stammered, "I beg your pardon?"

The king smiled again, though there was no real humor in it. Flicking his gaze down to the parchment, his look prompting the younger man to read the letter. The march of ink was easy enough to understand, but he decided to speak again.

"Yes, it seems that he and another family of your stature have entered into agreements to wed you to the youngest daughter within the next few months. He asks for my blessing, and as it appears, my aid to reconcile you to the news." At that, Steven rose from his seat, striding away and stopping before one of the windows. The weak spring sunshine broke through the clouds, illuminating the displeasure and anger in his face as he continued to stare at the parchment's contents. Anthony breathed out a soft sigh, running a finger along the jeweled chain crossing over his chest. "I wanted to warn you before he chooses to arrives at court and shocks you with it himself. We both know how blunt your father can be."

They shared a glance at that, memories of past instances where Sir Joseph Rogers' pert and curt opinions were shared at council, when he was far too honest with too many people. It was a trait he had passed to his son, though Steven had the temperance to soften it at times.

"Yes," the blond man intoned woodenly. Glancing once more at the letter, he folded it in half before letting it fall to the floor. Squaring his shoulders, he looked the king in the eye, a privilege that other monarchs would not allow but Anthony did. Raising his chin, the young knight-captain pronounced, "I am not of a mind to marry."

The older man exhaled sharply, shaking his head before moving to sit behind his desk.

"You say that now, my lad, but to be frank, you cannot afford to wait much longer," he reminded Sir Steven, affixing him with his assessing gaze. The king had a knack for reading people, reading their intentions and personalities better than one would give a monarch credit for. Shaking his head, he murmured, "You are my friend, sir, but you can never advance higher than your current rank or expect more favor to be shown to you in your single state. As well as that, your family name will die with you, should you not marry and sire sons yourself, and I cannot believe that you want that."

Each word, as he knew, hit the younger man squarely in his chest. Nothing of what he said was untrue, and they both knew it. However, the balk in Steven's eyes was all too clear to see, and he at once spoke to refute them.

"I have never sought to reach beyond my grasp, Your Majesty—"

"Tony, lad," the king interrupted, reminding the knight-captain of his preferences in private with his friends. It was something he often had to prompt Steven to do, the etiquette in the fellow sometimes too strong to be ignored. That time, though, Steven halted his speech, drawing in a breath before going on.

"—Tony. And furthermore, is it not my business if I choose to sire children or not?"

The flinch upon his own face as he spoke was barely perceptible, but Anthony caught it. Feeling a twinge in his chest, the king placed his palms on the desk's rich surface, his gaze boring into Steven's and his voice commanding attention as he stood.

"Steven. You have to face the facts sometime: the Duchess of Brookland is married herself, for over a year, and has borne her husband a son." The flinch on Sir Stevens face was stronger that time, and his bright eyes riveted to a point on the floor. It was reported to the court that the Duchess Margaret had given birth to her first child with the duke three days before the princess's progression started. The knight-captain himself had only heard of it after their arrival in the capital, but since then he'd been stoic and withdrawn on the subject. Time had only gone a little ways to heal him, but it seemed that a bit more would be needed. The king supposed his firm hand could be lent to it, if only for a brief moment. "Your affair with her has long since been ended, and until you are married yourself, neither she nor the duke shall return to court. Her life has gone on, my friend. It is time that yours does, too."

Steven's eyes glared at the floor, and he scoffed audibly. "Was that the duke's stipulation, or hers?"

King Anthony had the grace to look away, not willing to cause more pain than he had to. "That is not my place to say. Even a monarch has to hold some secrets."

For several long minutes, Steven was silent, his mind swirling with all that he had been told. His father had gone behind his back to negotiate a marriage for him...it wasn't uncommon, but it still did not sit well with him. He had hoped that, if he ever were of a mind to do so, that he would be able to make the choices, control the outcome of his own wedding. Sir Joseph Rogers, he had to be fair, would not entrap his son in holy matrimony with someone unsuitable, but he also knew that her dowry would speak all the louder over her shortcomings. And he had drafted the king into reconciling him to the news, as well. His monarch, as well as someone whom he called friend, had to be the one to tell him.

And what of the poor lady, who would likely be just as blindsided as he? Would she want such a marriage, especially with a man whom could likely be threatened on all sides? Who, in truth, still felt for another woman?

He supposed, then, that it did not matter. His father wished it to be so, and even though it was not what he wished, he could afford to hear the older man out, at least. He would promise nothing before meeting the prospective bride, and he would impress upon his father his will in the matter.

But, he surmised, the meeting would have to happen first.

"I wonder who is my father considering for this," he muttered, turning back and picking up the folded parchment from the floor. The first lines were ingrained in his memory now, but he could not recall the name of the family they would ally with, nor of the young lady in question.

When he dared to glance over, the king smiled at him, the tiny smirk that did nothing to reassure him. Steven blew out a soft sigh as he sat again and listened as his monarch sat once more in the other chair, continuing to lay out the newest turn of his destiny.

 **xXxXxXx**

The carriage rumbled along the track, the leather flaps open as the wheels creaked and the horses pulling it beat their hooves along the worn dirt. No insignia adorned it, but that did not matter to the occupant. No indeed, she was all too pleased to hear the holler of the driver as they turned the corner, the budding forest giving way to the main gate of a manor on the west side. A delighted smile adorned her tired face; it had been two weary days of travel for her, and she was so pleased to see it at an end. Poking her head out of the window, she felt the tug of the breeze pulling upon her hood, and she could not wait to be inside, to let her hair fall free and be at home once again.

After all, Lady Holly Martin had not been to her father's manor since his passing a year ago.

Sir Paul Martin, knighted after serving the king's father and then the current king as well faithfully during the skirmishes along the borders, had been ill for many months, though he had managed to live long enough to see his second eldest daughter wed to her husband. His heir, her older brother Henry, had assumed the mantle of his lordship with some grace, though his youth and way of dealing with things had taken time for the tenants of their lands to adjust to. Holly, the last of the three, had been given leave to attend the funeral by her ladyship, the Countess Fury, but had left after he'd been laid to rest.

Now, now she was home, back with the earth blooming and her grief a pang in her heart. Henry had written to the countess, requesting his sister be given leave to return home to attend to family matters. Uncertain to what was happening, and when her own inquiries to her brother had yielded no fruit, she conceded to his wishes, Holly taken her leave of the Countess Maria and promising to return within a month's time. The older woman had wished her well, bidding her to tell her the news of her home as soon as could be. Leaving behind her dearest friend, Sarah, as well, the young lady boarded the coach that had been sent, trunk packed and curiosity her companion along with her maid and the liveried coachman. And the few hired hands her brother could afford to send along.

As the carriage clattered into the yard, she was near to bursting out of it, the grinding halt of the wheels and the blowing snorts of the horses telling her that she was finally home. Opening the door herself, she veritably jumped out, not bothering to wait for any of the servants to bring a step to her. Her amber traveling gown, dusty as well from the road, shuffled around her as she stepped away, her gloved hand pressing to her face and a sigh of relief pouring out of her. Fingers twitched at the edges of her hood, but she dared not release her hair just yet, the pins in the brown waves holding all in place.

Her dark gaze roamed over the yard, the trimmed hedges bordering the edge of the stone wall, the windows glazed in the sunlight, and the great oaken door standing large. It had been her home for years, where her earliest memories of playing with her sister and sneaking marchpane with Henry had occurred. This had been her father's home, where her mother had breathed her last breath and once their family had come together. For months, Henry had stayed away from their seat, going to his own home and grieving there with his wife and children. Heather, too, was an entire county away with her husband. It seemed odd that now, of all times, her family should be converging upon the house again. Stranger still, there was no one to greet her.

It was then that the large door opened, and she let out a soft sigh. Her brother's chamberlain swiftly met her in the yard, bowing to her and grinning. The rest of the household filtered around them, greeting her as well and going to bring her things inside.

"Welcome home, my Lady Holly," murmured Master Doyle, towering over her as he swung back up and stood at his full height. Though they had known each other for years—he had been Henry's friend since he'd gone to study at the university in the capital—Todd Doyle still treated her with deference and respect.

"Thank you. I had not expected to be back so suddenly," she remarked, hands pressing into the folds of her skirt. Master Doyle smiled back blandly, dark curls shifting as he shook his head.

"'Tis no hardship, my lady. Your rooms are prepared, and I can send up some refreshment if you wish."

Lady Holly grinned back, though her eyes narrowed a bit. "Please do. I should also like to change out of this gown."

For emphasis, she patted the long oversleeves and gestured to the skirt, the cloth thick and durable but not terribly comfortable. Inclining his head, Master Doyle cupped his hand towards the door, beckoning for her to follow.

"Of course."

"Where is my brother?" she asked, letting the chamberlain lead the way inside. The entrance was just as she remembered: paneled with lighter wood, a few urns from antiquity set along the walls with a few carved benches, and the large staircase leading to the quarters on the next floor. Master Doyle tipped his head apologetically.

"Sir Henry is out attending to a matter on the Baxter farm. He should be back before the end of the afternoon, madam."

Well, that explained his absence, she mused, though confusion still reigned within her.

"I do not hear the Lady Gemma or the little ones about," she stated, her eyebrows inclining as she spoke of her brother's wife and children. Taking her point, the chamberlain bowed his head once more.

"They should be coming within the week, though. Your brother wished to meet with you, alone, first," he proclaimed, bowing at the waist once more and stepping back.

Understanding that Master Doyle was physically removing himself from her questions, she bit back a sigh. "Thank you."

One of the maids in service at the manor approached her then, informing her that her trunk had been brought to her rooms. Nodding, she followed the woman straightaway, the steps ringing as she climbed up. The nursery from her childhood was no longer appropriate, so she had been led to some decent apartments along the east side of the house, overlooking a portion of the gardens her brother had spoken of trying to revive in one of his letters. She had hoped to assist him in that endeavor that summer; would this be one of the matters spoken of? Long did she ponder the possibilities as another maid came into the chamber, an ewer of hot water presented to her as the first maid removed one of her clean dresses from the trunk. Washing her face and hands first, Holly felt the niggling feeling in her mind and stomach grow as the minutes ticked by, the weight of the fresh gown upon her petticoat and kirtle not as intense as the traveling one was. Admiring the swish of the skirt and the new bodice pinned to the kirtle, she let herself be distracted by the forest green cloth for a moment. It was good to be home, in clean clothes and the comforts she had forgotten she missed. In serving the countess, she was kept busy in being a companion or fetching and carrying, but though she had grown used to being there, to sharing a room with Sarah and learning the skills necessary to be a courtier, it was not home.

After she'd finished dressing, her hair loose and no longer in a hood, she began to search through the lockbox that had come up with the trunk, her favored books within. Intent on finding her copy of old stories from the north lands, she had nearly missed the hushed voices just outside her door. However, the excitement within the words caught her attention, her search for the book forgotten as she fell prey to listening in.

"I don't think she knows," murmured one voice, melodious even in a lower pitch. It was female, likely one of the maids that had helped her earlier. Stepping closer, Holly pressed her ear to the panel of the door, curious as to what would be the likely gossip in the manor.

"Nay, she is too calm to not know," came the second, female as well and slightly more stern than the other. A sigh followed, and the shuffle of feet came through. "Or, at least, I hope she does know. No lady wants to find out they're marrying out of the blue. Least of all Lady Holly; she has never been one for secrets, and having one kept from her is bad enough."

The lady in question had frozen in place, utterly stunned by what she was hearing. She was to be married? How, when did this happen, and when did it become the gossip among the servants? Her jaw had dropped, and she could feel her body shaking, yet she remained there as the first voice resumed speaking.

"True. I doubt that she would want to be in the dark about that. Especially with her betrothed likely showing up on the doorstep in a few days' time."

At that, Holly could no longer remain silent. Tugging hard on the latch, the heavy door swung open, revealing the two gossiping maids in the outer hall. One had dropped the bundle of cloth she had acquired, following the other in bowing her head.

"Madam! We...we thought you occupied," stuttered the first, her light eyes trained upon the slats of the floor. Risking a peek up at her mistress, she could see the distress and surprise in her face. However, when the Lady Holly spoke, her tone was hard, her dark eyes narrowing in on them both.

"Explain yourselves," she demanded, leaving no room for refusal. "Now."

Faced with their mistress's ire, the pair took turns in telling her what they knew. Her brother, as it turned out, had not summoned her home simply for a long-overdue visit or some family matters, but had other intentions altogether. Hearing the truth, she felt indignation and fury light through her, but she merely dismissed the maids and asked to be told the moment her brother returned to the manor.

It was some hours before his horse came galloping into the yard, the shouts that the master was home nearly ringing throughout the building. She had done her best to try and read the few books she'd brought with her, or even to try her dreaded needlework in that time, but her mind was swirling at what she had been told, and she could find no peace. When the call did come, she was on her feet immediately, out the door of her rooms and clattering down the stairs yet again. At the foot of the steps stood Master Doyle, his eyes widening as she breezed by him, brooking no refusal and marching straight into the office that was now Henry's by right.

The old room was still so familiar to her: the shelves of books along the back wall, the marked cabinet that was designated for holding the family's important documents. What had changed was who was now standing behind the great mahogany desk. Sir Henry Martin, tall and his dark hair bluntly cut, focused his hazel gaze upon his sister, eyebrows inclining as she veritably slammed the door behind her.

"Henry, how could you?!" she demanded, hands bracing along one of the tall chair before the desk to stop them from trembling. Blinking, the older fellow attempted to grin at her.

"And good afternoon to you, too, sister," he greeted her, moving to sit behind the desk. Inwardly, he was grumbling at the lack of luck he was having that day. The dispute at the farm had taken far too long to be resolved, and now it appeared that someone had let the cat out of the bag as regarding his sister and her future. He had hoped that the confrontation, inevitable as it was, could have happened when he had the chance to change into clean hose and remove his boots. Alas, it was not meant to be. "I trust your journey went well?"

"Well enough," she spat out, goaded by his seeming nonchalance into speaking her mind. The ire that had been stewing that afternoon was spilling forth, and she would not stop it. "First you summon me home from service to Her Ladyship, without giving a reason. When I get here, nobody is at home. And then, I hear through the servants why I have been brought here in the first place. How could you?"

A harsh exhale tore from him then, and he unclasped his cloak to fall upon his chair.

"How could I what?" he asked her, daring to meet her gaze.

"Sell me off like a cow at market," Holly ground out, flapping a hand in the air, trying to find the words to continue. "How could you just...decide something like this, without speaking to me?"

"We are speaking now," he retorted, and just as he saw true fire bloom in his sister's irises, he rose from his seat, palms held out in surrender. "But that is not your point, which I do know. Sit, please."

Staring at him, Holly's jaw set mulishly as she did as he bid, her bottom connecting with the hard wood with little grace or caring. She crossed her arms, keeping silent as she held her focus upon him. Henry sat again, hands now bracing upon his desk, the parchments under his fingers shifting without his notice.

"Holly, you have known something like this would happen nearly your entire life," he started, appealing to what he knew she understood. Arranged marriages were not outside the norm for their society; on the contrary, few had love matches made, save for those living in the lowest branches. Though their family was only of minor elevation (in the eyes of those high in the court and the king's graces), they were elevated enough that the possibility of matches made would happen for them. It had happened for him, though he was fond of the Lady Gemma and pleased to call her his wife. Heather had done, so, too. Now, he reckoned, it was Holly's turn. Clearing his throat, he said, "You are past three-and-twenty—"

"Only just past this January," she replied willfully.

"Meaning that you are another year over a marriageable age," he responded, tipping his head at her.

"But hardly beyond."

"Holly, it is past time you were married," he countered, not wanting the argument to becoming as entrenched as she wished it to be. Cupping a palm in the air, he pointed out, "You should have your own life by now, your own home and children to care for."

An audible snort ripped out of her, and she fell back into her chair. "As we know, that is all there is to a woman's life."

The bitterness in the statement stung him, as intended, and Henry softened his gaze.

"You know I know that is not true," he nearly whispered, thinking back on their mother. Lady Lisa had been given to their father, but she was by no means a submissive wife. While Sir Paul had fought in the skirmishes, their mother had attended to their lands, to their tenants, raising up arms and collecting supplies to send to him. She was his field marshal, and the rallying point for their banner. She had done all that, while still being lady of the manor and attending the welfare of their children. Holly was recalling it, too, if the glaze upon her irises and the wobble of her lower lip were any indication. The time for dwelling on the past, though, was not then. At least, not that far. Returning to the conversation at hand, he continued, "But in the world we live in, there is not much more that you can do. Father...he was in negotiations with the potential bridegroom's father for months about it before he...and I want to honor the agreement. I want you to be honored, to be provided for, like he wished."

Each word pinched her, and she looked away, the pain fresh again.

"That is not fair."

"It isn't," her brother conceded, scrubbing a hand over his face before leaning his elbows against the desk's surface. "But, dear sister, there is more to life than being a mere maid-in-waiting. And you deserve to have more than any single, unwed woman is entitled to."

Holly met her brother's eye then. While she did not like being blindsided by such news, it was hardly an unthinkable thing to happen. And furthermore, he was right: women had few rights outside of marriage, and her brother knew that, while she could survive on her own, it would be difficult. Were she a queen, she could endure the single state, perhaps make it play to her favor, but that was not the case for her. She was a knight's daughter, a knight's sister, a female of landed gentry but owning no land of her own. Still, the thought would take some getting used to.

Hence, she realized, why it was only Henry and her in the house. She would need time to reflect, to think, and that was hard to with little ones and a sister-in-law to contend with.

"So you have brought me home to prepare," Holly posited aloud, and was rewarded with her brother's nod.

"Yes. And it will be easier to facilitate the courtship from here, away from the prying eyes of the court," he surmised, the corner of his mouth turning up.

That piqued her interest, and she started to chuckle softly. "The court? Who on Earth from the court would be interested in a knight's daughter?"

Henry's hands flattened upon the desk again, his back stiffening and his gaze boring into her.

"Another knight. Or rather, the Knight-Captain of the King's Guard."

Holly's first instinct was to laugh at that. However, when her brother's expression remained grave, she found her grin falling away, replaced by yet more shock.

"...You're serious," she stammered, blinking rapidly as she understood what he was implying. "Sir Steven Rogers is to be betrothed to me."

A full grin bloomed upon his lips, and Henry at once extracted a letter from the pile before him, holding it out to her.

"Read for yourself," he bade, and he was pleased to see the shaking in her hand had lessened as she reached for it. He watched as she scanned the lines, her eyebrows raising as she read through the knight's greeting and his subsequent questioning in regards to her. If she was comely, of a good disposition and her dowry good, there was no reason the match could not take place.

" _Jesu_...Sir Joseph certainly is straight to the point," she muttered. Dark eyes flicked up, and she asked her brother, "But is his son amenable? There is no note from him."

Henry lifted a shoulder. "If he wasn't, I believe we would have heard something by now. Though the end of our mourning seems to have been the catalyst to start your betrothal in full."

Holly nodded. She, too, had noted the date upon the letter, already over a moth old by that time. With St. Valentine's Day came the end of their year of mourning the loss of Sir Paul, black wool and satin finally set to one side for them all.

"I see," she sighed, the letter falling into her lap as she leaned once more against the back of her chair. Biting her lower lip, her fingers curled around the ends of her trumpet sleeves, twisting with nerves as her mind raced. Shuffling and the thump of boots echoed around her, but she did not notice her brother kneeling beside her until he took one of her hands between his.

"Dear Holly, I could not have procured you a smarter match. Sir Steven is said to be a good, honest man, even despite the court's machinations. He will take care of you, far better than I can," Henry said, believing what he said to be true. Though his acquaintance with the Rogers family only went so far as the negotiations, he had heard of the Knight-Captain's reputation. It seemed he was one of the few men in the country who, slight hiccups aside, remained in the king's good graces, and in the good graces of the people, too. Lighting upon another thought that might help, he told her, "It is said, too, that he is a handsome fellow, so that must be some consolation as well."

That got her to grin, though it was wan. Glancing away briefly, she turned to him, struggling to find her tongue.

"Henry...I..."

"Please consider it," he pleaded with her, squeezing her hand gently. Reaching up, he patted the waves of her hair before resting a palm upon her shoulder. "Sir Joseph and Sir Steven will be arriving here in four days' time to further work out the details. Shall you be willing to at least meet with him?"

Taking in the sight of her brother still on his knees, and then the letter still resting in her lap, she inhaled deeply. Breathing carefully, she slowly nodded.

"I, I think so. I shall meet with him. But I do not promise anything," she added, her index finger extended and pointing in Henry's face. Clicking his tongue, Henry patted her shoulder once, letting her go and rising.

"I suppose I could not ask for more," he exhaled, smirking down at her and letting the teasing tone shine through his words. When Holly snorted again, he shook his head. "Gemma and the children will be arriving as well, tomorrow or the next day. What a merry household we shall be."

The younger woman smiled then, the tiny grin true. "Indeed."

Henry smiled back, the feeling of resolution hanging around them. Taking her hand, he persuaded her to stand, looping his arm with hers and leading her away from the office.

"Come now, sister. Let us have supper; I am ravenous, and I can imagine you must be hungry, too."

Holly took his arm, but her appetite had fled well before they had gone into the dining hall, their supper ready for them. At the table, she had to force herself to eat. The fare was good and filling, and on any normal day she would have indulged in the repast. That day, however, it was the food for thought that filled her, the notions of contracts, marriage, and the Knight-Captain circling within. She tried to recall the man, having glimpsed him on the trip or two she had accompanied the countess to court. She remembered fair hair, a sharp jaw, and serious eyes, all built into a strong, tall man. A shiver raced down her spine as it faded in her memory, her hope that she was not merely imagining the attributes for the man. Henry promised Sir Steven would be good to her, good for her, if he agreed to the betrothal.

As she excused herself for the night, she climbed the stairs to her rooms, her heart hammering in her chest as she sat upon the edge of her bed. To the maids, she bid them to leave her in solitude, and they complied, the latch of her door clicking in the silence. Turning to her lockbox, she pushed away the books along the top, pressing her hand to lift the false bottom. Underneath the tomes was a prize indeed: a book of blank pages, gifted to her by her father the last Christmastide he was alive. She had, as a child, often scrawled her own notes in his record books whenever she chanced to find him in his office. Seated upon his lap and taking one of his quills, she jotted disjointed verses that delighted him. As a grown woman, he wished to see her keep developing her talent, to use and turn words for her enjoyment.

Several pages had already been filled, the structures of her writing incorporating what she had learned of the new sonnets. However, her mind was not filled with verse at that moment. Instead, as she fetched up a quill and ink, she could only pen a single sentence, summarizing what she could not otherwise say.

 _Dear God, I am afraid._

She could only pray, she silently surmised, that her brother would be right, and that this betrothal would not be the end of them, or her. Else, she did not know what any of them would do.

* * *

 **A/N:** And here we go, everyone! Over a year has passed since Margaret has been married, and Steven has kept himself busy...too busy to notice his father arranging his marriage for him! Of course, there is King Anthony to soften the blow, but still...  
And then there's Holly coming in as well. I ask all of you to keep in mind that, for all intents and purposes, this is a different time period. Women back in the day really only obtained any power or increased their standing in society through marriage. And while arranged marriages were more the norm back then, they did require the consent of the parties involved. Both of the parties here wish to meet first...I can't wait until they do.  
Oh, this project is going to be a lot of fun, I think...let me know what you think!  
I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any outside references made in the text.  
Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	3. Meetings

The afternoon peace along the road was broken when a troupe of horses rounded the bend, hoofs beating into the dirt and kicking up rocks as the party ambled on. Six were upon horseback, while a cart with trunks followed at a discreet distance. Four guardsmen had been drafted into the task of accompanying the two travelers, while the two servants had strayed back to the cart. At the head of the party were Sir Steven Rogers, Knight-Captain of the King's Guard, looking suitably sober and tall in his navy blue riding clothes. His cape snapped in the wind as he rode, the chestnut gelding he was atop making him appear like a veritable mountain in the saddle. Beside him, only a couple inches shorter and in deep crimson, was another. Sir Joseph Rogers, once a captain in the King's Army himself and owner of his own honors, wore the lines of his age with grace, his bright eyes only slightly dulled from the trials of the world. His hair, bearing a touch of red in the blond—unlike his son's darkened gold—was drawn into a queue at the nape of his neck, his bearing slightly more languid but no less imposing. For hours they had been on horseback, embarking on their second day of travel from the court, the silence between him and Steven causing the air to be somewhat oppressive.

That would not do, not in the slightest. Instead, the older man marshaled his reserve and directed his own mount to get into step with his son's, catching the younger one's eye and persuading him with a look to slow down. They would reach their destination soon enough, there was no rush.

After all, it was unlikely that pushing themselves to arrive early would change the fact that Steven's betrothed would be there waiting for him.

Clearing his throat as the horses slowed to a trot, Sir Joseph began, "Now, son, I expect you to treat the Lord Henry and his sister with respect when we arrive."

An affronted look passed over the younger man's face, and he frowned. "Of course. I never intended otherwise."

Steven was, if nothing else, polite and amiable to others, even to those whose company he found distasteful. It was something he had learned from a young age, and he had used it to his advantage in the past. The fact that he was, through his sullen silences and pointed glares, not able to do the same for his father in the past few days was telling indeed.

"Ah, yes. Give them what you cannot give me," Sir Joseph muttered almost petulantly.

Steven fought hard to not rein his horse in, instead shooting his father an incredulous glare.

"You planned this betrothal behind my back. You cannot think that I would have ever accepted such news like that gracefully, especially after conveying it through a letter and using the king as a go-between."

The temerity of Sir Joseph's plans was still hitting him squarely, days after the event. It was compounded when the older man finally did arrive at court, ready to fetch his son away. The least he could be thankful for was that the reasons behind his summons were not fodder for the gossips, yet. For his part, the older man directed a sharp look at his son.

"I certainly expected you to behave as a Knight-Captain should, and not have all but shunned my arrival at court."

Steven rolled his eyes, grinding out, "You bid me come to you like a dog."

His father returned the gesture, the familial resemblance all too clear in that instant.

"Oh, that is not true in the slightest. You're just upset because I am no longer willing to tolerate your ridiculous pining over a woman you cannot have." Out the corner of his eye, he thought he saw his boy flinch, but it could have been his horse attempting to go faster than the trotting pace he was put to and him hastening to correct him. Quite a stubborn creature, that animal was. Squaring his shoulders, Sir Joseph pronounced, "Best to find you one who is more...compliant, to your station in life."

"She would have been amenable, had she the chance," Steven murmured, the old hurt breaking through his careful control then. In that moment, Joseph looked at his son, his flippancy fading away as he noted the pain that had abated very little. Steven was his child, and even though he had thought his fancy for the young duchess was foolish, he did not like to see him injured in any capacity. A part of him felt guilty (and likely would for the rest of his days) that he was unable to prevent that pain from happening.

However, it was not in his nature to dwell.

"My son, that chance was slim indeed, and you know it," he remarked softly, the note of finality clear beneath the sympathy. The time for wallowing and sinking into oneself was long over, and he would not let Steven fall back into it again. He had made progress over the last year, and he was determined to see his son take yet another step. Glancing out at the stretch of forest to his left, he muttered, "This one could prove to be far more than the other. We shall have to see."

Steven let out a soft grunt. "Perhaps."

Knowing full well that it was unlikely he would get more from the lad, Sir Joseph turned his attention back onto the road, heels nudging into his horses sides to spur it on. Not to be outdone by the older man, his son mimicked his motion, the pair of them setting into a gallop. For a brief moment looking back, Joseph caught the impish smirk on Steven's lips as their guards attempted to keep up, and he let out a barking laugh of his own as they went around yet another bend. Suddenly, the trees gave way to rolling expanses of grass, a manor house looming on a rise. The river beyond the break of the forest glimmered in the distance, but the brick and stone building beckoned them forward, set back away from the road as it was. Shouts and voices echoed through the air, the gates swung open to them and their party. The cart would take its time, but for the moment it was enough that the Rogers men had arrived at the manor house, the large doors to it creaking open as well.

Out came a fellow of an age with Steven, though he had darker hair and hazel eyes, and was not as broadly built. Still, he was not physically cowed by the Knight-Captain, or his father. Instead, he smiled at them warmly, though the trepidation in his gaze was difficult to miss. Dismounting, Steven felt a chill creep down his spine as he followed his father to say hello to their host.

For days, he had tried to reconcile himself to the idea that a betrothal had been arranged, that he would not merely be meeting an ally but also a woman to be his wife. Something in his chest twinged at the thought, the pang of the past insisting that only one lady should hold that title, but he dared not let it show again. The past would remain so, and the future was before him. In any case, he would not let it stunt him, or stop him.

"Sir Joseph, Sir Steven, welcome to Potomac Hall," Sir Henry greeted them, clasping and shaking their hands in turn. Gesturing for the servants to start attending to the trunks and other belongings brought with them, he next guided both visitors into the manor house. As Steven's bright gaze wandered over the few pieces of furniture and the dark, smooth staircase, Henry asked, "How was your journey?"

Sir Joseph gave him a weary smile, answering for both himself and his son. "Well enough, thank you, Sir Henry."

"Please, come with me," the brunet man intoned, leading the way around the staircase and towards a door in the rear of the hall. Opening it, he revealed the dining hall, the long tables bare save for a tray set with bread and cheese, and a flagon of wine. A fire crackled in the hearth along the far wall, lending light and heat to the room, the tapestries along the walls brightened. Tipping his hand to the tray, Sir Henry murmured, "We have refreshment prepared for you."

Relief sprang onto both their faces it had been some time since their barely-passable meal that morning, and Joseph strongly suspected his son might want to avail himself of some wine before meeting his intended. Though he put on his strong demeanor, his father knew him better than that.

"Thank you for your hospitality, sir. Particularly on such short notice," Joseph remarked, cutting another glance at his son before seating himself at the table. Steven's brow furrowed, but he did not respond the comment, instead taking the seat beside him.

Sir Henry chuckled wryly, pouring out the wine himself into three cups. "Four days is plenty of time to prepare for two honored guests. Certainly, it is not like hosting His Majesty, I think?"

His dark gaze met Sir Steven's, humor flooding into the blond man's irises as his head dipped into a little nod.

"No, that would definitely require a bit more flash and show," the Knight-Captain conceded, unable to deny the truth of the statement. King Anthony did always enjoy the pomp and ceremony of his standing, lavish fetes and parties having been the norm since he inherited his crown.

"Well, I hope this will be enough to suffice," Henry remarked, cups passed and the tray of food pushed over as well. As the guests partook of the light repast, some further conversation flowed, mostly to do with Sir Steven's duties to the monarch as of late. Sir Henry expressed a quiet concern about the king's engagement to the Princess Wanda, matching many of his countrymen's attitudes towards the foreign princess, but when the Knight-Captain professed her to be amiable enough, he chose to suspend judgment upon her. For his part, Sir Steven asked after the well-being of the brunet man's family, expressing belated condolences upon the passing of Sir Paul, and Henry took it with grace. Despite having been thrust into the role of master to the tenants surrounding the property, Henry was pleased to report that the farms were doing well, and his wife and children were en-route from her father's house (where they had been living on and off over the last year, as it had taken some time to come around to the idea that Sir Paul's house was his). In the midst of the slow conversation, Sir Joseph sat silently, chewing thoughtfully as his son, despite is voiced reticence, was making the effort to make himself amenable. He could hope that, no matter what the outcome of their planned visit, he would stay that way.

When the conversation lulled, Sir Henry glanced away briefly, seemingly coming to a decision and straightening in his own seat.

"Well, gentlemen, we all know why you are here, why you have come," he started, intent on at least laying down the preliminaries of the matter. His eyes closed briefly, and the slight bob of his Adam's apple was unmistakeable. "My sister—"

A door, unnoticed along the far wall of the hall, banged open then, and a rushing flurry of skirts and soft boots thudded across the floor, breathless chuckles floating out. Henry's eyes shot over to the intruder, and utter surprise dawned upon his face. He shot out of his chair, blinking almost in horror as he identified the interloper.

"Holly!"

Automatically rising from his chair, Sir Steven turned to face the doorway, and felt the rush of air leave his lungs. The young lady in question was encased in a dark green riding habit, some mud encrusted upon the hem and streaking upon the skirt. A small smudge of dirt was brushed over her brow, her face pink with delight and exertion. Locks of wavy brown hair had escaped her hood, and she was taking deep breaths, indicative of her possibly having sprinted into the hall earlier. She was not diminutive, but she was still smaller than he, though her bearing did not suggest delicacy, either.

Lady Holly was, he was surprised and pleased to find, rather pretty.

Dark brown eyes took in the scene before her, to the three men now staring at her, and the color began to drain.

"Brother, I am sorry, my archery lesson with Master Barton had...gone overlong," she hastened to explain, and her hands curled into the folds of her gown as she darted another look at the visitors. "Oh, dear."

Sir Henry's shock was sliding away, replaced with indignation and not a small amount of embarrassment, flicked his gaze pointedly at their guests and back to her. The two Rogers gentlemen both noted her lack of true surprise upon sighting them; she had obviously known who they were. Still, it was clear that she had not expected them to be there just yet. The young woman's dark gaze followed his prompting and her swallow was audible.

"Perhaps you ought to tidy yourself, sister, and then join us," Henry suggested, eyebrows inclining.

"O-of course," she muttered, seizing upon the chance to back out of the quagmire she'd stepped in. Dipping her chin, she backed up to the open entry, mumbling, "Pray, excuse me."

Within a trice, she was gone, the swish of her skirts and the soft thud of her boots against the floorboards the only indication of her dwindling presence. After a few moments, Sir Henry let out a slow breath through his nose, shaking his head at his new companions.

"I do apologize. I had thought she was elsewhere in the house, not out."

"It's quite all right, sir," Sir Joseph replied, his words nominally directed to Henry but his eyes focusing on his son. Steven's gaze remained upon the open doorway, his jaw still a little slack. Smirking inwardly, the older man did no more than clear his throat and send an indulgent look to the young lady's brother. "She seems spirited."

Upon his words, Steven retrieved his jaw, blinking rapidly and shaking his head as Sir Henry agreed with his father's assessment. He agreed as well; few young ladies would think to barge in as she did, fresh from her exertions and with a muddied dress. Most of the ladies he knew at court would have rather died than appear as she had.

A part of him was glad to see she was not bothered about it, at least not until she realized who else was there. Mayhaps he would witness more of that very spirit his father had praised. Inwardly, he rebuked himself for the hope, telling himself that it would not do to become attached or see the match for anything beyond the surface.

Even so, he felt a strange, yet familiar, tightening in his gut when the lady reappeared a half hour later, cleaned and in a different gown. The light blue damask fit her well, contrasting the spill of her dark hair over her shoulders as she sank into a curtsy, all combed and coiffed. (He was not a little glad that she had eschewed her hood for the time being, her maiden status allowing her to get away with doing so.) Sir Henry moved forward when she rose up, taking her hand and guiding her forward.

"May I properly introduce my sister, the Lady Holly Martin?" he stated, the corner of his mouth curving as both the Rogers men sketched bows to her. Looking down at her, he murmured, "Sister, this is Sir Joseph Rogers, and his son, Sir Steven."

She nodded and grinned at Sir Joseph, though a certain glimmer had come into her dark gaze as she looked from her brother to Steven.

"I think that introduction is hardly necessary," she replied, the bare edges of smirk threatening to break free. Letting go of her brother's hand, she clasped her fingers together behind her back as she took a step closer to the Knight-Captain (the slight tremor, he had spotted, but he did not comment upon it). His height and his build were impressed upon her with his proximity, but it was the slight gleam in his bright blue eyes that captured her attention. Shrugging a shoulder, she continued, "You have made quite a name for yourself, sir."

Strained as it was, Steven could not help the lopsided grin and bashful tip of his head.

"I've done no more than my duty, my lady."

The smirk on her lips softened, and her eyes narrowed the slightest bit. "A modest man beneath the warrior facade, then."

It was his turn to shrug. "Something like."

Quiet descended upon them, the pair of them awkwardly glancing at and then away from each other, both wondering what on Earth to do next. It took Sir Joseph's throat clearing to bring Steven back into the moment, and he held out a hand to the lady, darting his eyes over to the table. She inclined her head in silent agreement, fingers curling around his palm and allowing him to guide her to a chair. Once she was seated, he took the chair to her left, Henry and Sir Joseph taking the head of the table and the chair on the opposite side, respectfully. A serving maid had come in with another tray of food, cold meats accompanying another loaf of bread and some fruit, placing all upon the table before leaving them in thoughtful silence again. Sir Joseph, still hungry from the ride and desperate to occupy himself, took some of the food before asking Henry about the crops yielded that year thus far. The low diversion was taken, and it gave Sir Steven the opportunity to formulate his own thoughts.

They had to talk, had to do more than exchange strained pleasantries.

"So...you are learning archery, my lady?" he asked her, deliberately keeping his tone low so as to not draw his father's attention. (Sir Joseph had heard him strike up the conversation, but he chose to let it continue without his input. He wanted the betrothal to work out, and that would be better accomplished if his son was given the chance to do so on his own.)

Lady Holly dipped her chin, a self-effacing grin on her bowed lips.

"Trying to. It is better for all involved that I attempt an activity that does get me outdoors on occasion, and the long bow suits that purpose," she told him, reaching over to fetch up a slice of apple from the tray and eating it. Steven tilted his head, squinting in curiosity.

"Have you no liking for the crossbow?"

The young woman met his gaze, guessing at his intent, and giving a light giggle. "'Tis less of a challenge, I grant you, but I do not wish to aim too high, too quickly. Master Barton says I have been improving."

At the name, he stiffened in his seat, another surprise for the day.

"Master Barton? As in, Master Clinton Barton?" he asked, a true grin gracing his lips. "I have not heard that name in a long while."

Indeed, he had not. Clinton Barton had been, for years, the best archer in Marvella's army. He had risen from his own humble origins as a shepherd, his keen eye and greater intelligence marking him out during the border wars. He was given some of the highest honors for his service to King Anthony, before he abruptly quit the court some years back. It was good to know he was still alive, still utilizing his talents in any capacity.

Lady Holly enthusiastically nodded. "Yes, that Master Barton. He's been Master of Horse for my brother for a few years, once he left His Majesty's service. I requested he teach me how to use it properly some time ago, and we practice whenever I reside with Henry. I am nowhere near his level of expertise, but he has been patient enough to help."

Sir Steven, still taken aback by the turn of events for Master Barton, let out a low whistle, shaking his head as his thoughts turned to other matters.

"Though, with the advent of the pistol and the musket, I am not sure how much longer either will be relevant," he stated. Admiration of the fellow notwithstanding, even he had to concede that archery was likely going to be reduced to nothing if the prevailing trends of cannon, musket, and pistol continued to alter the course of war. Lady Holly glanced at his sharply.

"They could remain so. At least as long as the shield and sword continue to be favored by you," she retorted, her eyebrows rising minutely. From the other end of the table, Sir Henry darted a fast, cutting glance at her, frowning and shaking his head at her impertinence. However, Sir Steven was not offended at her words. Rather, he chuckled under his breath at her point.

"My reputation reaches out here as well, then." As a knight, he had long favored the weapons and defenses of old, but had also adopted them on the battlefield as well. The rapier he wore as part of his office was no mere decoration, after all. Still, that was all a story for another time, something Holly must have sensed as well.

"That, and I have been to court before. I have been to a few tournaments," she explained lightly, resting her hands in her lap again. "I serve as a maid of honor to the Lady Fury. Usually."

Sir Steven let out a low croon. "I do not recall seeing you."

Lady Holly looked away then, small spots of pink smattering upon her face. "I would think not. Considering."

That truly got his attention, and the affability seemed to drain away in mere moments.

"Considering what, madam?" he asked bluntly, an eyebrow rising pointedly. The blush in her cheeks was becoming the scarlet of embarrassment once again, but before he could attempt to pry further, he caught the flicker of movement out the corner of his eye. Looking up, he was met with the knowing glance of his father and Sir Henry's affable grin.

"I am sure you and your father would like to rest for awhile, Sir Steven," the brunet man said, rising from his chair. Tearing his gaze away from the young woman beside him, Steven opened his mouth, but Joseph was the one who answered.

"Yes, that would be welcome, indeed," the older man said, weariness blanketing his features as he stood as well. Forced to concede, Sir Steven held out his hand to the lady without prompting, helping her to her feet as his father rounded the table. "It was a pleasure to meet you, my lady."

He bowed before her, the older man spying the tightening of her grip around his son's hand before she withdrew. Curtsying, she let her brief reticence melt away, warmth in her dark brown eyes as she glanced from Joseph to Steven.

"I bid you both a good afternoon." Another curtsy, and she started to back out of the room. Steven bowed as well, bright eyes following her as she went.

"And to you," he nearly whispered, the swish of her skirts heralding her departure. Sir Henry, his eyes flicking between him and the doorway, bid both gentlemen to freely call upon his servants as if they were their own, and called for his man to guide the Rogers men to their prepared rooms. The chambers prepared for them were modest, but comfortable, and in the shared drawing room, Sir Joseph turned his gimlet gaze onto Steven. He had not known what to truly prepare for when his son met the girl he intended for him, but the quiet contemplation certainly garnered attention.

"What think you, son?" he inquired after a few moments, glancing significantly at the door separating them from the rest of the house. Steven looked up, drawn out of his silence and taking in a deep breath.

"I think...there is more to her than meets the eye," he replied, not doubting that in the slightest.

Sir Joseph smiled inwardly, though outwardly he posited, "And one could hardly be left wanting in that regard."

He had not expected Steven to answer, had merely been attempting to only state the case upon the young lady's prettiness, but he found himself surprised once more.

"No, one is not," Steven murmured, abruptly pivoting on his heel and disappearing into his bedchamber, the door closing on his father's now outward grin.

 **xXxXxXx**

After two days' time, Holly was unsure of what to think. Though she had done quite well in presenting herself as amiable to the guests in the house, she knew she had not set the best first impression. Wild-looking, dress in shambles and shouting was no way for a lady to behave. Especially not in front of her potential future husband...but she could not quite bring herself to regret it. If Sir Steven Rogers, Knight-Captain of the King's Guard and first of the Order of the Shield, could not tolerate such displays, even in private, then that was his issue. Still, she did wish he could have seen her at least somewhat tidy at first.

His blue gaze, calming and thoughtful, seemed to miss very little, as she was coming to find out.

Those first days were spent with her brother showing the Rogers men the grounds, their property and the good hunting to be had in the forest. It had been nearly dark when all had returned, a stag and several birds brought into the pantry and all beaming in exultation at their bounty, with polite greetings cast to her and to her sister-in-law (finally, Lady Gemma and the children had come, taking their places in the house and filling it to the very rafters again). There were few moments in which she could speak to her almost-betrothed in those hours, so she had to settle for observation. For a large man, he did his best to remain as unobtrusive as possible, nearly shrinking in on himself to do so. And then, in the next moment, he was unyielding as a wall, standing tall and proud as he spoke to the children and told them of their exploits, the young ones eager to hear stories from the strangers as well as from their father.

And those blue eyes, pensive and quiet when they turned to her, sent her reeling even more.

The third morning dawned with clouds stretched over the sky, rain falling not long after they had all quit the chapel and gone to the dining hall to break their fast. The children were nudged to meet with their tutor, Lady Gemma seeing to her letters in the morning as Henry and Sir Joseph closeted themselves in the former's office. Knowing full well what they were likely discussing, Holly was determined to keep out of it. Though she was slowly warming to the idea of becoming a wife to Sir Steven, she did not think she could stomach listening to her brother haggle and hem over her dowry, her worth. Nerves sprang and snapped along her veins, and she found herself briskly pacing the long gallery upstairs, the excess energy still rippling through her after the fourth circuit. Peering out the mullioned windows to the still-steady downpour, she briefly considered going out into the rain, but dismissed the notion as soon as it surfaced. Gemma, and Henry, would be appalled if she returned home yet again with sullied clothes before their guests; her brother had been quite displeased with her first impression, and had made no secret of it.

Rather, she moved onto another idea, one that would likely suit all their tastes. Repairing to her bedchamber, she selected one of the books that since been removed from her trunks, taking it with her as she descended down to the ground floor of the house. Off of Henry's study was the small library, books her father had accrued over the years stacked neatly on sturdy shelves along nearly every wall. With His Majesty's policy of tolerance to all creeds, texts of philosophy resided beside novels, the works of Luther stacked neatly to the left of Sir Thomas More (that particular country's Henry, while vile, at least had allowed some great minds to express themselves for a time), without fear of persecution or repercussion. She was not of a mind to indulge in those, her own book sufficing. She was merely grateful to find that the library, usually used as the schoolroom for her nieces and nephew, was empty.

Or so she had assumed upon first entering it. Her abrupt arrival startled the lone occupant by the eastern window, and she stopped fast. Red crawled into her face, and she clutched her book to her chest.

"Oh!" she gasped as Sir Steven rose from his perch, the travel desk upon his lap set to one side. Curiously, he held not a quill, but a square of red chalk in his hand, smudges of his on his fingers and a thin line of it along his jaw. The Knight-Captain, an artist? Holly could not ask about it, could only stammer, "I had not intended to intrude."

Rather than be affronted, the man in question snickered low.

"It would be hardly an intrusion, given that this is your home."

She smiled wryly, lifting a shoulder. "My brother's, but I understand your point. If you would rather spend some time on your own, I can go elsewhere. I imagine that with all your official duties, you seldom get the chance to be alone."

She nodded to the shelves of books, to the quiet solitude that had been surrounding him before her arrival. Taking her point, he let out a soft sigh, grinning somewhat ruefully.

"I have been quite busy of late, but...again, your being here won't be an intrusion." Glancing at the book in her hand, he nodded. "Likely you were seeking the same thing, though the method is a little different."

The corners of her mouth curved again, and the tome came up, even as she bit her lip briefly.

"Yes." Her dark gaze lingered upon him, before shifting to the padded cushions by the window. It was her favorite spot to read in the manor, and if Sir Steven did not mind...well, then. She let her grin grow, and taking that as assent, Sir Steven took up his portable writing desk, sitting himself in his own seat once more. Raising her chin, she stated, "My reading will not be a nuisance."

He shook his head, the blank pages in his hand rustling slightly. "No more than my scratching at paper would be to you, I assume."

Taking his acquiescence, and keeping the door open so that no one could allege impropriety between them, she went over to the window seat. A final flick of her gaze raked over him as he bent over his blank pages, the shift of the red chalk in hand gliding over the paper accompanying the mute rush of rain beyond the glass. It was thus they spent time in company, neither speaking a word as he drew and she read. At least, it passed that way until his bright eyes focused upon her again. Her face had since contorted into a mask of mild discontentment, and he could not help but wonder what was making her do so.

"What are you reading, perchance?" he inquired, unable to make out the spidery crawl of the title from that distance. A tiny breath of air blew out her nose and she did not look up at him when she answered.

" _Troilus and Crisedye_. I know not why; I have never liked how it ends. I keep hoping that she would find a way back to Troilus, but she never does. And then he...oh." The last was more of a huff of dissatisfaction, and she rolled her eyes at the text, clicking her tongue. "Disappointing."

Recalling the plot of the book, Steven's face creased with the edges of muted sadness, the glimmer in his gaze dulling as he stared down at the chalk he was passing from hand to hand.

"Indeed. Perhaps it is the adversity itself that draws you, at least initially," he declared quietly, looking up at the same time as she did. Locking gazes, he could not look away from her as he continued, "It's not wrong to wish for a happier ending. We all do, at times."

Holly had no response for that, unable to deny the truth of his words. Still, she supposed he was no longer speaking only of the story in her hands, and that was another line of inquiry she had no wish to pursue. However, it seemed the fates were against her wishes.

"We never finished our talk, my lady," Sir Steven announced then, and for a moment, she was confused.

"Are we not talking now, my lord?" she asked, the humor in her voice dying when she noted the serious expression upon his face.

"My lady," he said, the admonishment clear. Thinking she knew what he was referring to, she let out a sigh and sat up straighter.

"Very well. What point did you wish to continue on?"

"The point in which you were giving reasons why I would not have known you at court. The one you made the day we met," he furnished, writing desk and materials fully set to one side as he spoke.

Lady Holly blinked at him, once, twice, and then let out a low breath as she rested her tome in her lap. Palms curled around it, and she let her focus go out the window as she gathered her words.

"Well, you are Knight-Captain of the King's Guard, sir. I hardly imagine you have the time to scout out women in the trains of the ladies of the court," she remarked, the playful lilt under her last words meant to be taken lightly. A corner of his mouth did turn up at that, but his brow remained creased.

"And?" he asked, sensing the layer beneath that she was not stating. Holly tried to formulate something else to tell him, something more palatable, but her natural forthright manner was overtaking her.

"If I am frank," she wondered in a low tone, "will you become very angry with me?"

It was his turn to blink at her words, but he managed to incline his chin.

"I value honesty, my lady. Even if it is something I may not wish to hear."

Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself to speak of the true reason why she still held doubts of possibly entering a union with this man. It was difficult, acknowledging the why of it all, but she knew it would do them no favors to pretend like the past did not exist.

"Your...admiration, for a certain duchess was another reason why you likely have noticed no other woman, sir," she put forth, the bluntness softened by the care in her voice. Sir Steven's face flushed red, and he dropped his gaze. Even she, a lowly maid of honor, had heard of his loss and humiliation, his pursuit of the Duchess of Brookland the worst-kept secret in the kingdom by her estimation. She had not been at court when he had tried to persuade the duchess's father to let her marry him; Holly's mistress had been well-entrenched in her country home at the time, and so the word had trickled in once the New Year had come and gone. It was still spoken of when the Lady Fury had taken her and a few other ladies to court for the May Day festivals and jousts, and what had caused her to really take note of the Knight-Captain. He had fought hard, valiantly, and had come out the victor of the lists that year, but he still carried the sadness of the failure.

The sadness that still outlined his eyes even now.

"To lose her...had to be devastating," she mumbled, a twist in her gut pulling at her words. To that, Sir Steven sighed.

"It was," he whispered back, the dwindling rush of the rain outside slowing for the first time in hours. It was the only thing, besides their breathing, that broke the silence between them for several minutes. The building guilt in rousing the lady's ghost, as it were, and her own lack of comfort compelled Holly to speak again before long. (That, and the unaccountable desire to erase the sadness in Sir Steven's form, to comfort him, drove her on as well.)

"I do not blame you for it. I also do not blame you if you do not wish for...for this," she said, a hand rising and milling through the air. It was meant to encompass the visit, the terms of the betrothal they all had alluded to but had yet to really acknowledge...to herself. As his blue eyes rapidly rose to meet her darker gaze, she shrugged again. "I know that my being a knight's daughter is likely the only recommendation I bring with me for this betrothal, should it take place. At least you will not lower yourself in tying yourself to me."

His eyes widened at her implications, but she could not force herself to glance away, demurely or not. As stated before, she had known full well of Sir Steven's previous failure to bond with the Duchess Margaret. As such, she also knew that he himself had likely been stunned and maybe even adverse to the idea of marriage to another. She also knew who she was, what she could offer him, and knew that, by comparison, she was lacking in some ways. Still, to protect herself—and even Sir Steven—she would not sweeten the issue.

It took Sir Steven several moments to find his tongue, but eventually, he was able to respond.

"My lady, you are quite cruel to yourself. You have far more recommendations to you than that," he told her, brow creasing at the thoughtlessness she showed about herself. In the few instances he'd been in her company, she had shown herself to be kind to her nieces and nephew, a good companion of her sister-in-law, and determined to match wits with her brother over dinner. The challenge in her eyes, the open honesty in her face...the spirit she had shown in those brief instances of their first meeting were all apparent to him.

Just a knight's daughter? Hardly.

For the time being, he set aside the issue of his lost love, instead considering the betrothal that was yet to be determined between them, that he knew for a fact was being discussed behind the closed door of Henry's study at that moment (it was why he had absented himself in the first place, hiding in the library so he could continue to sort his own thoughts while his father spoke the younger man).

"What think you of this arrangement?" he inquired, wishing to know her true feelings on the matter.

She bit her lip, a last attempt to stop the honest flow out her mouth that ultimately failed.

"I think my brother is very eager to see this marriage happen. Both to honor my father's wishes, and to unburden himself of me. I am too close to being a spinster for his liking, and he has his own wife and children to consider. A maiden sister would be an embarrassment, indeed."

The knight-captain grimaced. "I did not ask about your brother, I want to know what you think. Please."

The last word caught her, and she looked at him again, taking in a deep breath as she struggled to voice her own, true feelings.

"I think...that you recommend yourself far better than words on paper can," she admitted, blushing and knitting her hands into the folds of her gown. Swallowing hard, she pushed herself to go on. "You seem a good man, Sir Steven, and I...I could not ask for more. I only hope..."

Prickling with something akin to pleasure at her words, Steven felt it halt as she paused. Leaning forward the barest fraction, he had to know what she hoped.

"Yes?"

The young woman's brown eyes widened at his intensity, and it took a few shaky breaths for her to confess the remainder of her thoughts.

"That perhaps you may like me one day. Like me, without a contract to tell you to."

Her gaze may have then dropped to her knees, but her hearing was attuned to the shuffle of papers place into the portable writing desk. It was followed by the soft whisper of his clothes as he rose, the quiet thump of his boots treading across the floor. He halted in front of her, his presence overpowering in those few seconds as he towered above her. A pause, and she found herself holding her breath, wondering what he would do. Slowly, calloused fingers slid under her chin, carefully persuading her to look up again. When she did, she inhaled sharply at the naked guilelessness in his irises, the strength of his form present despite the gentle touch of his hand.

"Madam, you do not hope in vain."

With that, he dropped his hand and tipped his head in a bow. Several fast steps took him and his writing desk out of the room, leaving Holly feeling flustered and her book forgotten for a long while.

* * *

 **A/N:** ...* _crawls in after a month of being gone_ *...Oh hey, everybody.

I genuinely apologize for my lack of posting over the last month. My life has taken a few positive turns over the last several weeks, and thus took up a good portion of my time. Not least of which is that I have finally, FINALLY, secured a full-time position in my field, and will be moving to take up said position in June. As such, I've had to put in notice to my other jobs, complete one's tenure, begin gathering materials to pack, and start looking for a place to live. Along with that, I have started a kind of-sort of relationship, which I am still trying to figure out and attempt to do long distance on top of it all. Kinda left my writing to the wayside, but I am going to try and be better about it from this point out.

In any case, we at least have this chapter to go upon now! Sir Steven and Lady Holly finally meet...and well, it's the start of something new for them both. We shall see how it progresses from here. ;)

Many of you seemed pretty pleased with King Anthony; don't worry, I intend to bring him around in the future as well, along with several others...

Next chapter, we see the continuation of the bonding between the betrothed couple...and discussions of the future. Hang tight, I will try to get it out quickly!

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any references made in the text.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	4. Decision Made

A little over a week had passed since Sir Steven Rogers and his father had come to Potomac House. Discussions for the possible impending betrothal between the Knight-Captain and Sir Henry's sister, Holly, had continued, though the fervency of the early days had dwindled as time went on. That is, it dwindled as time went on and neither party spoke about declaring their intentions to those negotiating it. Both lady and man had endured the fretting of their elders, but one day faded into the next, and they remained pleasant in company through it all.

One morning, after prayers and breaking his fast, Sir Steven found himself contemplating the situation yet again. The time he had requested away from his post was nearing its end, though he knew that King Anthony would no doubt give him an extension of it, should he ask for it. He did not wish to do so; he had wanted to reach a conclusion, and quickly. However, he found himself lost whenever he was with Lady Holly, everything merging and growing in his mind and heart. After the disaster of losing the duchess, and the haste of this would-be betrothal, he could barely find the time to breathe. With her, though…he find himself gasping evermore.

Dressed for the day, he glanced out the mullioned window, revealing the pages and hands in the yard clearing a space several feet long. An archery butt was brought out from the stable, one fellow in muted plum trunk and hose directing them to set it down. A wickedly curved bow was in hand, and a filled quiver on his back, and he cast his glance back at the house. The dusty brown of a fustian gown and hood appeared, another bow in the figure's grip, and it spurred the knight-captain into action. His resolve was settled, and he barely paused to sling on his own cape as he departed the rooms. Striding quickly, he did not notice his father watching him go, a knowing grin on his lips as his son clattered down the stairs.

Finding his way through the great hall and the side doors, Steven found himself in the yard, boots thudding as he came up to the pair taking turns firing at the butt. The man of the outfit spotted him first, and raised a hand in greeting, as Lady Holly started at his sudden appearance.

"Have you come to join the lesson, Sir Steven?" called out the fellow beside her. Turning his gaze to the man, Steven could not help the pleased smirk on his lips. The cropped, sandy hair and bright eyes that met his sight had not been seen for years now, which was too bad, indeed. Master Clinton Barton was a shrewd man, quick of wit and easy of humor, even in the direst of times. Though he had had his share ills, he had survived many battles, and still maintained the truth of his person. Two winters ago, the archer had declared his intentions to quit the court, the wealth he had acquired due to his service and the favor of the monarch allowing him to resign his post from the guard and quietly slip away. He'd gone into the night like a wraith, sparse letters and notes brought in from all over the country. Steven was privately glad that he had settled somewhere, finally; perhaps with the potential new connection in his life, he would be seeing more of him.

The knight-captain inclined his head respectfully. "I am here merely to observe. It is good to see you, Master Barton."

The older man let out a happy gasp, all while maintaining a smirk of his own. "You remember me, sir?"

"It is difficult to forget the top archer in this country," countered the blond fellow, eyebrow spiking pointedly.

Barton snickered lightly. "You have a long memory, my lord."

"As does the king," Sir Steven reminded him. Glancing at the target at the end of the yard, he proclaimed, "He still tells of how you managed to complete the Challenge of Odysseus all those summers ago."

That made the archer's eyes light up, the memory as clear as if it had happen only yester-night.

"And so many thought that bow so heavy and hard to manage," Barton scoffed, a wry smile playing along his lips. Shrugging a shoulder, he pronounced, "Barely a weight."

"Of course," retorted the Knight-Captain. Glancing at the lady, he caught the quizzical quirk of her brow. Raising an eyebrow, he asked her directly, "Did he not tell you of it, my lady?"

Lady Holly shook her head, affixing Master Barton with a look and a smirk of her own.

"No, he has not. I assume you shot through a line of hollowed axes, then, without touching them?"

"Fair Queen Pepper even gave me the prize afterward," the acclaimed archer asserted, though his grin had dimmed somewhat. The beloved nickname of the late queen was known far and wide amongst the people, but her death was still a somewhat fresh wound in the country. Barton, in particular, had had the privilege of meeting her in person, in the years prior to and during her reign as King Anthony's consort. She was kind and thoughtful, and had an eye keener than his on occasion, he'd surmised privately. Aloud, he said, "Though she was merely a princess at the time."

Lady Holly clicked her tongue, both hands curling around the grip of her bow. "Master Barton, I am truly disappointed that I never heard that story."

The archer canted his head, shaking off the brief melancholy. "Well, the actual tales of the battlefield did seem to fascinate you more."

Sir Steven's brow furrowed, and he watched as Lady Holly guiltily looked at her feet. He hadn't thought such tales would be regaled upon her. Most women he knew had no wish to speak of such things, preferring light chatter.

"You are intrigued by war, my lady?" he asked her, the question coming out slightly harsher than he intended. The barest flinch flickered over her face, and she turned back to him, mouth opened.

"I—"

Clearing his throat, Master Barton drew attention back onto him.

"Madam, I must insist that if we are to continue your lesson, you must at least lift the bow," he remarked pointedly, first glancing at the equipment in question and then at the target at the far end of the yard. Thoroughly chastened, both knight-captain and lady disengaged from the conversation, allowing her to resuming her practice. Sir Steven looked on in silence as she strung up an arrow, biting her lip as she drew back the bow string. The upper and lower limb tensed and shifted accordingly, and she even went so far as to close one eye as lined up her shot. When she released it, it struck up and into the left side of the second circle. Sighing, she nodded as Barton recommended loosening her stance, giving her the chance to try again. Several minutes passed in that fashion, blue irises flicking from the lady to the target, missing very little (certainly not the bitten lip, which was turning red from her ministrations).

"What think you, my lord Knight-Captain?" the archery master asked the knight-captain when she released the last arrow in the quiver, finally striking closer to the bulls-eye. Lady Holly nervously looked at him, her face remaining passive while her fist clenched tight around the grip. Tipping his head to the side, Sir Steven allowed himself a small smile.

"I think you have a diligent pupil," he murmured, warmth in his voice. In turn, the blush in Holly's cheeks rose, her dark eyes glimmering briefly before she turned her focus back onto the target and sighed.

"Diligent, and in need of more practice," she partially muttered, shaking her head. Likely she thought she was not making much progress, but for the short while she had been participating, she was doing decently, in his summation.

"I believe that would be a good idea, if you are truly earnest in honing the craft," Sir Steven said, attempting to reassure her that she was on the right path. Before she could formulate a response, either positive or negative, he stepped closer again, gesturing to the opened gate just across the yard. "However, an hour has passed, and it would likely do you some good to step away for a few moments. Would, would you care to walk with me, my lady?"

Blinking at his request, she nodded soon enough.

"That would be agreeable," she replied, putting her hand into the crooked elbow he offered her. Master Barton watched them go, keen eyes missing nothing as they matched step and turned west outside of the gate, heading straight for the gardens. Another flick of his gaze, and he caught the fast movement of brocade and silk darting from one window pane to the next. Unchaperoned as they would seem to be, he knew all too well that the lady's brother would never really let her be (not Lady Gemma, who was no doubt watching from the window overlooking the garden). Muttering under his breath, the older man went to the target, plucking the arrows from the butts and shaking his head in good humor.

Rounding the outer walls, the pair made their way to the garden, the symmetrical layout of the paths and wide shrubberies beckoning them. It had been a point of pride with Lady Lisa before she'd passed, something her husband had kept up with in honor of her memory. With both gone now, it fell to Henry to maintain it. Which he did, with skilled gardeners coming out to add or trim back what was needed whenever he requested they do so. A new water feature was being plotted for the center of the green maze, but would not be put in for a few months yet. In the meantime, Steven and Holly indulged in wandering the paths, the young woman pointing out the flowers that were poised for blooming as he nodded in polite response. After a few moments of quiet wandering, he felt her grip curl around his bicep, and he turned to look at her. She was biting her lip again, but before he could implore her to stop, she was speaking.

"I want to make it plain from before: I know there are aspects of war I will never understand, and to be honest, I am not sure I would wish to," she blurted, an apology in her tone and in the sheepish cast to her features. Sadness crept into her face, and she exhaled softly through her nose. "It robs so many of...too much. But...even in that, there is something to be learned, something to be honored, by those who lived through it and tell of it. Master Barton...he hardly speaks of it, but when he does, it helps unburden his heart. And teaches me something new."

Steven was a little taken aback. Her frankness was still something he was adjusting to, even after all those days spent in the house with her. However, he could not find any real fault with it. Her honesty was refreshing, and allowed him to see her point of view. And her motivations, which in this case were well-meaning. Resting his free hand on the pommel of his blade (the habit to wear it too ingrained to abandon doing so, even while away from his post), he dipped his chin.

"War is horrifying. In that, you seem to have a little understanding." He caught the relief springing over her face at not being taken to task for her words, and he hastened to continue, "I am sure Master Barton does appreciate the honor you give him by listening."

A giggle erupted from her, and she tipped her head to the left. "I do have a very good set of ears. For anyone I care for, whenever they wish to set down their burdens."

The knight-captain absorbed that, and then wondered, "And if they do not?"

Her shoulders shifted, in a facsimile of a shrug. "Then they make that choice, and I am still there. My father fought for King Howard, against the Hydra Uprising, as did yours."

Steven grimaced, though he was not upset with her. No, it was merely the memories of those dark days that drew him into a state of ugly dissatisfaction. Separated by a borderline of trees and a single river were the North Lands, ruled over by Prince Thor and his family. When his father had been in power, two of his greatest lords had set their sights on both Marvella and the North, intent on claiming the lands as their own. They had spent some time massing their forces from the malcontents and criminals of both kingdoms, a private army grown and bred before either kingdom could do anything to quell it. The Baron of Zemo had broken away from his king, sending in his commander to assassinate the monarch, triggering the downfall of the court itself and buying the time to move south of the border fully. (The prince's brother had been drawn into the devious plot as well, hoping to take his elder brother's place, but he had been caught and given up the coup in exchange for his life.) Years of war were waged, the last of King Howard's eclipsed by the spreading darkness before Anthony stepped in.

"Yes. And I did, too, for a time," Steven confessed to Holly in the present, the corner of his mouth turning up at her surprise. Inclining his chin, he conceded, "Though I was no Knight-Captain during the border skirmishes."

Indeed, he was not. She was quickly calculating, knowing the final battle to have ended roughly a decade prior. He could only have been an adolescent, merely in his teenage years when he went to war. She looked at him closely, knew that he had seven-and twenty years to her twenty-three, but it still shook her. Men became men so quickly, so violently, she mused privately.

"I am glad you all came through. It was...so dark, in those days, though perhaps they were darker to those directly exposed to it," she commented, glancing down at the path beneath her feet. Sir Steven nodded, knowing the truth of her words all too well.

"The baron and his commander did not do anything by halves, and it was indeed a hard and bloody battle. All of it. But...we survived, and the kingdom made it through." He looked at her, the storm in his blue irises mitigated by the shrug of his shoulder. "Best we could all do, really."

She met his gaze, inclining her head and managing a wan smile. After a moment or two, she looked head, with him following her example. They continued to walk, the light grind of the dirt beneath their feet accompanying the chirps and whirs of the birds in the woods beyond in breaking the silence. Soon enough, she was clearing her throat, preparing to break it herself.

"I heard that was when you fashioned your shield," she intoned mildly. The story was often told among the ladies at court, the noble actions of those in service to the king entertaining even years after their occurrence. "Two broken pieces of others combined into one, yes?"

The clouds upon his face had gathered once more as he recalled that day, the final battle. He had risen through the ranks, serving under his father for the king. Since dawn, the two armies had been cutting and slashing, even the nobility being drawn into the fight as blood spilled and the air turned heavy with the cries of the warriors. His contingent, which had included Sir James and a number of other friends, had been cornered, the commander's troops flanking them as the baron's remaining legions sneaked in from behind. His own shield had been lost in the fray, and he had been desperate in his slashes and parries, trying his damnedest to stay alive.

And then James had received a harsh blow, grounding him even as he killed his adversary. That had shocked him into really looking around him. Nearly all their fellows had been wounded or killed, and the commander himself was thundering down upon them. Thundering toward him, the veritable last man standing.

It was then that he spotted two halves of shields, both similar enough in shape that they could be utilized. It would be his only hope to survive.

"That was...difficult," he breathed, the echoes of the fear solidifying into cold determination pressing through him then. Closing his eyes, he shook his head and inhaled deeply. On his exhale, he hoped to dissipate the emotions, finding that he could regain control by doing so. It proved true then as well, and he was able to tell her, "It held, though."

It had held; he did not know how, but those broken halves were stronger together than any other shield he had possessed before. The commander had come at him with a spear, the end of it breaking when he brought up the lashed-together disk to block it. With a twist of his wrist, it snapped into the man's leg, forcing him from his horse and falling to the ground. The evil man's face was bloodied, so much so that it seemed his entire skull was dipped in red paint, but he did not let that hinder him. He came at Steven, over and over again until a final downstroke had eternally halted him.

It was only a short time after that when the Baron's remaining forces were routed, and the last remaining leader of the rebel forces that called themselves Hydra had his head cut off, too. The bloodshed was over.

The effects, though, would never go away, and Steven knew that, even when his new king had knighted him on the field once he was found again.

In the present, Lady Holly let out a slow breath of her own. "Thank God."

Sir Steven's free hand slipped into the pouch upon his belt, the rosary within tapped absently.

"I do, indeed. Sometimes it does not seem like it was ten years ago, the memories can be so fresh."

"You have plenty of reasons to remind yourself otherwise." Another squeeze of his bicep, and he spied the admiration and pride in her gaze as she spoke. "You lived, Sir Steven, saved your friends and family. Look at them, and you'll see how far you've come."

"Yes," he agreed, almost absently. However, he was thoroughly considering her words, and he admitted, "That is an interesting way to look at it, Lady Holly."

"Hopefully it will be of use?" she asked.

"I...think it might be," he slowly said. For another minute or, they walked in silence, the crunch of the ground underfoot accompanying them. Casting his gaze upward, the gray of the sky caught his attention, as well as the brisk breeze rolling in. Nodding to it all, he declared, "Clouds are gathering. Rain will be upon us soon."

Lady Holly turned her head, hiding the flicker of disappointment as she nodded. "Best we head back to the house."

"Yes. I imagine there will be much to speak of there, when we do." Off her questioning glance, he pointed out, "You cannot have failed to notice that my father and I will be leaving in a few days."

It would have been unladylike to snort, though she came close. "I have not."

Pressing on, Sir Steven said, "Also, they are waiting for our confirmation whether or not to pursue the match they have built for us."

The hand on his bicep started to tremble, but Holly's countenance remained calm. "Yes."

"Well...I believe I know my answer," he said, fully halting them both on the path. Taking both her hands in his, his thumbs swept back and forth over her skin as he gathered his courage. Meeting her gaze, he pronounced, "If it is your wish as well, Lady Holly, I would...I would like to pledge my troth to you."

The light tremors in the lady's hands vanished as his words washed over her, and Holly could only stare back at him for several long seconds.

Eventually, though, she smiled, the brightness of it impossible to miss.

"I, I wish it, too, Sir Steven," she confessed, and something inside him relaxed, loosened in a way that he was unaware of its previous tightness. He grinned back at her, the roil in his brain building even as he felt relief bloom inside his chest. He forced himself to concentrate on her words as she continued to speak, and the feel of her hands in his, so soft and gentle even as she squeezed his fingers happily. "So, we shall speak to my brother and your father. We should do so right away. It would be best, I think, to finalize the terms with them as opposed to letting them do what they wish." A glint appeared in her gaze, and he found it compelling as she tilted her head coyly. "It is our marriage, after all; we should have some say in it, do you not agree?"

Steven chuckled at that, inclining his chin.

"Yes, my lady. Let us go find them, then," he stated, guiding one of her palms into the crook of his elbow. As one, they pivoted and began to walk back to the manor house, lightness in both of their steps that neither was aware of. Another thought gnawed at him as he walked, and he found himself unable to stem. His free hand covered her fingers, and in a lower, conspiratorial tone, he breathed, "Lady Holly, I truly do like you. And while I know this was as sudden for you as it was for me, I hope the same from you."

Dark eyes darted to him once more, and then her own free hand was laid over his.

"You may hope that, and rest assured that the feeling is mutual, Sir Steven."

The echo of his sentiment from a few days past, spoken back to him, did reassure him, strengthening him and her for the course they were embarking on.

 **xXxXxXx**

Intentions were indeed declared by Sir Steven and Lady Holly, her family and his father rejoicing in their agreement to wed. It was still surprising that the couple had requested a final meeting to take place after the evening meal, the last details to be squared away before more time could pass. The united front they were already displayed pleased Sir Joseph greatly, even if he was a little dismayed that his son and the girl's brother allowed her that much leeway. Oh, well; he was not wedding her, and it would do Steven some good to have wife who was more than capable as a helpmate.

Holly could see the incredulity in her eventual father-in-law's eyes, and smirked to herself, but did not otherwise comment. She knew that it was the way of the world, that the heads of the families would be the ones to sort the details. However, she was standing by the point she had made to Sir Steven: it was her life they were arranging, her future, and she would at least be in the midst of it all, to make sure that she would be provided for. Some of the discussions took place in her brother's office, though the last few happened at the dining table in the hall. It was there, when Henry and Sir Joseph were putting the last touches on the documents, she felt her hand stray to Steven's under the table, her own nerves getting the better of her and making her seek comfort.

Inwardly, she'd blessed him for turning his palm over and threading his fingers with hers, neither looking at the other as they sought solace in that small touch.

On the morrow, the official betrothal ceremony would take place, but for the time being, she took pleasure in waking on a new day, breaking her fast with some bread and cold meat away from the main company. She had reckoned that her day would be one of quiet contemplation, with an eventual foray into her sister-in-law's rooms to discuss a few details for the actual ceremony in a few months' time. As she exited her apartments to do so, she ran into her brother in the hall. He was arrayed in sturdy wool and outfitted to the teeth with weapons. Her eyebrows inclined, and he shrugged a shoulder.

"We are about to ride out to hunt," Henry explained to her, gesturing to the stairs beyond. Clicking her tongue, she nodded when she recalled the plans to do so as the men spoke that morning (Sir Steven had been sat beside her, exchanging a smile or two every so often when the conversation was headed by others). Thinking he would simply pass her by, her brother instead looked her over, considering something in his mind. Soon enough, he raised his chin and voiced his thought. "Would you care to join us, sister, or come with my lady with dinner?"

Blinking, Holly slowly grinned, eager to seize upon the opportunity presented to her. While she had no real issue with mornings of quiet study and thought, she'd had plenty of those in the past days. Her brother knew her too well, knew she would need to do something else to keep herself occupied and active. What better way than this?

And, if it ingratiated herself a bit more with the family she would soon be joined, he could not object to it. Though that was a thought Henry kept to himself.

"I think I should prefer the hunt, brother," she told him, fingers clasping the folds of her gown to stop herself from being over-exuberant. "If that is alright."

"It is," he replied, his hazel eyes glittering in the light. Flapping his hands at her, he bade, "Hurry and change, sister."

Rolling her eyes and chuckling, she pivoted on her heel, swiftly clattering up to her rooms and instructing her maids to remove the riding habit from the wardrobe. Boots were also fetched, and instead of her matching hood, she fetched up the hat that had been cut from the excess cloth when she had commissioned the gown. With her hair pinned up and the hat secured, she managed to grab her bow and quiver from the chest she'd been storing both in, unwilling to be unarmed alongside her well-equipped brother and her betrothed. The thought that Sir Steven was intended to be her husband indeed filled her with the dueling sensations of pleasure and apprehension. He was a great man in his own right, and he was to wed her. It was baffling, as well as welcome. Not wanting to indulge herself too much in the thought—after all, it was an arranged match, and she knew it would not do to allow her erratic emotions to rule her—she raised her chin, asking for one of the young women to head downstairs and fetch her a knife for the hunt as well. The maid in question gawped at her briefly, but did as requested, placing the sheathed dagger in her mistress's hand as she went downstairs.

Tucking the covered blade into her pocket, she looped the bow around so that the bow string was settled against her chest, and proceeded out into the yard. Her brother's pages were leading forward two horses, and corralling the hounds that would be brought with on the excursion. Sir Joseph and Henry were already in their saddles, the horses sidling and tapping hooves against the packed earth of the yard. Her palfrey, a beautiful dappled gray was brought out alongside an almost monstrous stallion, the brown-haired lad leading it to Sir Steven. The younger boy blushed a little when she caught his eye, but he melted away as the knight-captain took the reins. Bright eyes flicked over, finding her as she crossed to her horse, and widened a bit.

"You are joining us, Lady Holly?" he inquired, watching as his page suddenly took the initiative and strode around to her horse. As he cupped his hands to assist her into the saddle, Peter grinned, and Lady Holly dipped her chin.

"Indeed, Sir Steven," she replied, eyebrows inclining as he continued to stare. Turning away, she managed a small smile for the lad, putting her foot into his cupped palms and getting into the saddle.

"Wonderful," Sir Joseph boomed, glossing over his son's stalled speech and straightening in his seat. "This is a celebratory hunt, after all; it is good to have both parties we are celebrating for to be involved."

Lady Holly chuckled. "Thank you, Sir Joseph."

Looking at his father, and then back at her, Sir Steven tipped his head to the right, his gaze assessing her for a moment. Still, he soon enough put his foot in the stirrup, swinging himself up onto the stallion and taking the reins.

"Are you certain you're prepared for this, my lady?" he asked her, blue eyes meeting dark brown as the clatter and shouts of the yard filtered around them. She stiffened her spine, but only halted the response she had when she caught the glimmer of a smirk playing along his lips. Huffing out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, she brushed past the question, clicking her tongue to encourage her palfrey forward. Taking the cue, Sir Henry shouted for the pages and the hounds to follow, the Rogers men falling in behind them. The party went south, the day clear and the clouds thin in the distance. The heat of the sun, finally allowing the earth to feel the truth of spring gathering strength, fell upon them, and Holly shifted in her gown, knowing full well how miserable the heat would be in summer. Still, she concentrated on studying the treeline as their hunting party veered off the track towards the forest, her brother and husband-to-be flanking her on either side. Sir Joseph guided his horse to the left, muttering under his breath as the hounds pulled at their leads, scenting something.

"Look, there," murmured Henry, ducking his head somewhat as he pointed suddenly. Along the dense line of the forest, a stag was picking his way. The hounds at hand strained at their leashes, and as the pages let them free, they bayed loudly, startling the beast.

"After him!" Sir Joseph shouted, his horse cantering forward. He drew his bow and arrow, firing and missing as the creature leaped away.

"That way!" Holly crowed, pointing to the left as the hind careened over a fallen tree trunk. The palfrey heeded her command, galloping ahead with her brother on her heels. The Rogers men followed, Sir Joseph firing and missing yet again.

It was then that Sir Steven had removed his own weapon of choice: one of the very pistols he had spoken of the first day they'd met. It cracked like thunder and screamed through the air, startling the nearest animals. The closest of which was Holly's palfrey, the beast rearing up and nearly throwing her. Hastily, she grabbed the pommel and a handful of mane to keep herself from tumbling, the horse immediately speeding off into the brush.

"My lady! Holly!" Steven called, panicking as he spurred his horse and loosened the reins. Allowed to go at a full gallop, the stallion sprang forward, hoofs churning up the earth as it tore across the fields after the young lady's palfrey. His father and her brother were left in the veritable dust, their shouts distant as the young man disappeared amongst the trees. Her palfrey had taken a winding, twisting path, its fright powering through the brush with a familiarity not known to his stallion. It gave the creature an edge, distance put between them until she came out on the other side. Once in the field, though, the animal did not slow down, and Steven felt confusion beat beneath the pounding of his heart. Given the power of the animal, it wasn't too long before Sir Steven was nearly caught up with Lady Holly's horse. Urging his own on a little more, he caught a light sound on the wind, one that almost had himself pulling in the reins in surprise.

She was _laughing_. Outright laughing as her horse sped further out into the tall grasses.

Steven had been expecting her to be frightened or gasping. Instead, she was relishing the breakneck pace the animal was going at, rocking perfectly in time with the gallop now. The wind coursed by as she directed the animal upon a trodden dirt path, taking her back into the thicket. He was right behind her, ducking to avoid low branches as dirt churned and sprayed as they went. She did the same, though she was not quick enough to stop one from catching her hat and pulling it from the pins. Brown waves streaked out behind her as the palfrey burst through another copse, a hard pull on the reins halting them in a shady outcropping. Sir Steven pulled on his stallion's rein, the creature's hooves slipping slightly in the beaten earth. Both of the humans were gasping for breath, she from exhilaration and he from ebbing panic.

The Knight-Captain clicked his tongue after a few seconds, his stallion sidling closer to her horse, and the lady turned to look at him, still breathing hard.

"I'm surprised you followed," she said, one hand still resting on the pommel of the saddle. Sir Steven outright snorted, agitation causing him to roll his eyes and shake his head.

"I could hardly let you go off on your own, at such a pace."

"And you never have?" she countered, her dark eyes flashing with challenge. He glared back, not in the least cowed by her.

"Why did you not stop when you were free of the forest the first time?" he demanded, wondering very much as to the answer. That the skittish animal would run was hardly surprising to him, and he could feel guilt running through him as he considered how foolish it was to use the pistol so close to her horse. But to keep going, knowing that she would likely be followed...

"I did not wish to. I wanted to ride," she told him, flushed with exertion and pleasure. Tossing her hair, she professed, "I don't often do so, not with Lady Fury and the others. Not like this. Not...freely."

A harsh breath shot out his nose, and he closed his eyes briefly, his lips set in a thin line.

"I see."

Thinking he was only irritated with her, she started to bristle and turned in her saddle to face him.

"I assure you, I have years of..." Holly trailed off, her mischievous smile vanishing as she spotted the glint in his irises. Stumbling through shock for a moment, she eventually muttered, "Oh, you were truly worried for me?"

The ice blue of his eyes could not conceal the flicker and flash within, and he raised his chin.

"Of course I was," he told her, something like disbelief coloring his kindness. Holly at once felt a little mean for implying that he might not have been. He would care for anyone he knew being at the mercy of a large animal, no matter how much riding experience they had. That she was his intended likely exacerbated that worry, and she felt all the worse for it.

"I..." She paused, uncertain of what to say. As she glanced down at her gloved hands, she missed Steven swinging his leg over and sliding out of the saddle. The swish of the grass as he crossed over to her horse drew her out of her thoughts, and she gasped when she noticed how close he was. As his hands came up, she stuttered, "W-what are you doing?"

He halted in his movements, palms inches from her waist, and twin spots of red appeared in his cheeks.

"I, I want to help you down, my lady," he told her, a touch of bashfulness in his tone. His gaze shifted from her face, and the corner of his mouth turned up. "Your hat is lost, and you have not a small number of leaves and twigs in your hair."

She reached up to her tangled tresses at his pronouncement, feeling the truth of his statement for herself. A blush of embarrassment flooded her face, and she shifted in her seat.

"Oh," she mumbled. Sir Steven let out a soft sigh, his palms turned out to her in question. Hesitantly, she nodded, before she would let herself dwell on the situation longer. The warmth and strength of his hands were felt when they pressed into the folds of her dress, and she swiftly braced her own palms on his shoulders as he started to lift her as she slid. Carefully, he placed her on her feet, the heat of him washing over her as he helped keep her steady. She looked up at him—and was struck, yet again, by his height and the build of him—the breath in her body turning shaky. His golden hair had likewise been blown askew by the ride, but it appeared merely tousled, and lacking in shrubbery. Under her scrutiny, he scratched at the curve of his jaw, at his beard, staring back at her.

Idly, she wondered how his beard would feel under her fingertips.

The blush deepened at the thought, but it was at that moment that Sir Steven bowed his head in contrition.

"I am sorry. I should not have used the pistol on this hunt, not with horses that are unused to such things. I put you in danger," he said, his gloved thumb tapping against the hilted weapon in question. At once, Holly reached out, taking her hand between both of hers.

"It is done, and I am all right. All is forgiven. Please, do not blame yourself...for too long," she amended, pleasure blooming in her when he managed a small smile. Ducking her own head, she wondered, "Do you forgive me, for riding out and worrying you further?"

In answer, Sir Steven removed his gloves and started to pull out a few leaves from her hair. Holly should have protested at the presumption of him touching her hair (touching her body too, even to bring her down to the ground, the etiquette her governess had imparted throughout her childhood a whisper in her mind). However, she was not inclined to do so, unable to find her tongue as he stood so very close to her, aiding her with gentle fingers. As the last leaf was pulled from one wavy lock, she held her breath as he reached up again, tenderly tucking the wayward strands behind her ear. The coarsened tips grazed the shell, lingered by her cheek, the look in his eyes all at once distant and encompassing.

The whicker of her horse jarred her from her own staring, and she coughed, the thickness in her throat loosening mildly.

"Thank you, sir," she managed, noting the spring of pink burning his ears as he stepped back. Sir Steven looked down at his boots, swallowing hard himself and shaking his head.

"You are welcome," he imparted. Fetching his gloves from where he'd tucked them in along his belt, he cast a rueful glance at her. "I beg you, next time you ride out like that, at least allow me to ride with you."

Caught in his gaze, she could do naught but nod in compliance. It would not be a difficult concession to make; given how well he'd kept up with her, he would be a welcome companion for any future rides.

"I will," she promised, earning a half grin from him for her effort. Distant shouts and calls could be heard then, her brother and his father finally catching up to them. As well as that, she could hear the chanting and calling of her nieces and nephews, her sister-in-law likely not far behind with the packed meal on the way. Their moment alone would be over all too soon, and the thought left her feeling a slightly bereft. Sir Steven lifted a shoulder, tipping his head silently at the approaching sounds, and she snickered, canting her head in mute agreement. Taking the hunting horn that was hanging from his belt, he brought it to his lips and blew, announcing their position to aid them further. A thought struck her as he turned to take the reins of his stallion, and for the life of her, she could not curtail it.

"Perhaps," she started, waiting until he looked back at her, "the next time, we could ride pillion?"

A thrill shot through Holly when she spied the flash in the heat of his irises, the slight narrowing of his gaze…and the almost imperceptible quirks at the corners of his mouth.

"Perhaps," he murmured, his response almost lost as the bay of the hounds joined the cacophony. She felt a small shiver course down her back as she turned to her own horse, the two unwittingly envisioning such a ride as both hunting and family parties arrived to bring them back into the fold.

* * *

 **A/N:** For those of you who don't know, pillion saddles allow two occupants to ride a horse at the same time, one in front of the other. It could allow from some pretty…intimate rides.

Also, hi. I know this update took two months to come into being, and for that, I am truly sorry. As I explained in the author's note of my other ongoing story, I recently started a full-time job in my field, and I had to move, so there was a lot of upheaval in my life over the last few weeks. Things are settling, so I feel better about my life, and about getting back to writing.

So, Sir Steven and Lady Holly are officially betrothed now. And developing potential feelings as well. Which will make things interesting in the future…soon enough, though, Sir Steven will have to return to court, and Holly to her post as well. Two worlds will be colliding and meshing, and I relish bringing that about.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other references made in the text.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	5. Telling the News

With everything finalized, the Rogers men bid farewell to the Martin family two days after the hunting escapade. Before the gathered family members, the betrothed pair could do no more than exchange farewells, though Sir Steven did clasp her hands in his, fingers raised and pecked affectionately. Lady Holly managed a grin, though it was clear that she was saddened to see him go. There would not be much time to be sad for her, as she would be departing the following morning to return to her post in Lady Fury's household and thus occupied, but at the moment it was clear to him.

What he had not expected, like his deep concern for her safety (or the stirrings deeper still that he was not acknowledging), was his own melancholy of leaving her behind. In those last few days, he'd found her to be a good companion, even in the silence that sometimes stretched between them.

Sir Joseph, as they rode away from the manor, caught his son peering back over his shoulder once or twice, smirking to himself when Steven finally sighed and faced forward again.

The days-long journey reached its conclusion in due course, with Sir Joseph choosing to part with his son and return to the family seat midway through their travels. Arriving alone (apart from the few soldiers that had accompanied him as his guard, and young Peter only a few feet behind him), he made his way through the capital to the Triskelion, the broad palace cutting a swath and gleaming as ever. At the main gate, he was saluted by the guard on duty, one of the pages running to take news of his return back to the king. In the yard, he dismounted his stallion, leaving him to the care of the stable hands as he began to stride away. Tiredly, he looked over those gathered in the yard, a few acquaintances peppered in with petitioners waiting to see the monarch. Instead of going into the main hall, he departed for the armory. Young Peter, he bid find his friends, the younger lad swinging a fast bow before trotting away happily. He had no doubt that the boy would divulge all the news to his fellow squires, all too eager to share the news that he had before the king did.

King Anthony would certainly know, either way, before Sir Steven deigned to send a report. It was the nature of the court, for all that was hidden to come to light at some point. Shaking his head to himself, he moved swiftly to the upper rooms, pushing open the heavy, bolted door to his office. A servant or two were bustling about the room, last-minute refreshments laid out upon a small table, a pitcher of wine and goblets accompanying them. And, as ever, there was a tall, brunet man indulging in the fare as well, a cheeky grin on his lips as he turned to the door and spied Steven.

"Well, well," Sir James said, bright eyes gleaming as he grabbed up a sweetmeat and indulged. Steven chuckled at his friend's blatant thievery and nonchalant attitude, all too glad to see his face again despite that. Picking idly through the remaining food, the other fellow smirked at him once more before taking a seat in a chair by the fireplace. "Back from your excursion to the country, finally. Can we expect the peal of wedding bells very soon?"

When the knight-captain had divulged the reasons behind his departure weeks prior, Sir James (commonly called Buck by those closest to him) had been shocked. Not that his friend would be meeting a potential bride, but that he was considering it at all. After the debacle with the now-duchess, it seemed to be unthinkable that Steven would look favorably upon the marriage state. With the fellow's father pushing, and the king abetting, though, he felt some of the shock wear away. A form of irritation on his friend's behalf took place; after all, why should the king dare to delegate on the matter, when his own heart was in such shambles? But James respected Steven's decision to at least meet the lady, bidding him farewell and continuing drilling and training in his absence.

Now, though, he was curious as to what his compatriot had decided.

Steven, rolling his eyes discreetly, did manage a small grin, dismissing the remaining servants with a nod. The two fellows dared to walk as slow as they could, hoping to overhear their master's answer, but Steven was too astute by far. He waited until the step of shoes upon the floorboards had faded before turning back to Buck. He inclined his chin, his smile turning all the more genuine.

"Yes, James. You can, indeed," he confirmed, James beaming and standing up immediately.

"That is excellent news, my friend!" he cried, crossing over and clapping the knight-captain on the back. Drawing him further into the office, he practically guided Steven to sit down (something the blond man found humorous, considering that these were his rooms and he knew where everything was). Plopping back into his chair, the brunet man waved him on. With the truth out, he was eager to hear all about the young lady his friend would be wedding. "Tell me, what is she like?"

Steven's smile remained, though his gaze turned contemplative as he looked upon the fire.

"She is...different from what I was expecting," he replied after a few minutes. It was difficult, still, to describe Holly. Mainly because, while she was another young woman of the land, she had found ways to touch him and know him that he had not thought would be possible. Not since losing Margaret.

James tilted his head to the right, narrowing his own gaze.

"Is that good or bad?" he asked.

Steven raised his chin. "Good, I believe. The contract was agreed upon, and we did plight our troth before my father and I departed yesterday morn."

The other fellow nodded, significantly glancing from the fire to his friend.

"And?" he wondered, waving his hand again to further prompt the fellow. While Steven's brow quirked in confusion, Buck's eyes turned up, his minor frustration peeking out. "Good God, man, what is she like? You have offered nothing about her than she is different and willing to marry you. Which, I grant you, are two very rare things indeed."

Steven snorted, shaking his head at his audacity. "Quiet, Buck."

James sat forward in his seat, curious as ever. Particularly as Steven's face began to go red under the scrutiny.

"Is she tall, short?" he began to prod, inwardly chuckling at the exasperation surfacing in Steven. Daring to continue, he wondered, "Plump, thin; does she have a massive wen on her face? Come now, tell me something about her!"

"She has no wen upon her face!" the blond man blurted, a tremor of laughter under the irritation. Scrubbing a hand over his brow, he closed his eyes, thinking upon his betrothed. The image of her farewell, the smile that touched her eyes and mixed with the disappointment of watching him go, appeared, and he was calmed. Speaking slowly, he told James, "She's...she's very honest, and sweet in her own way. She can fire a long bow passably, and has a keen mind."

James sat back, a little satisfied. Raising his eyebrow again, he muttered, "And hopefully she is pretty, too."

Steven opened his eyes, giving his friend a hard look.

"Indeed, she is," he admitted quietly. "Very pretty, with dark eyes and dark hair."

James let his gaze fall away, his jaw quirking as he hummed under his breath.

"Sounds a bit familiar, overall," he dared to say, earning a look of displeasure from his friend.

"It is not like that, Buck," Steven retorted, getting up his seat and making his way to his desk. He was done with the conversation, wanting to immerse his mind in work, but James would not have it.

"I should hope not," the brunet man said, getting to his feet as well. Hands went on hips as he watched his friend and commander's back tense, and he clicked his tongue. "For I doubt you could survive another woman choosing something or someone else over you."

"Enough!" Steven barked, finally at the end of his patience. Sighing through his nose, he swiped a palm over his face, resting his backside against the edge of his desk. "Please."

James crossed his arms over his chest, a twinge going through the left one. The old scars from the war tended to chafe whenever the air changed, whether it was the physical weather, or otherwise. Rubbing it absently with a few fingers, he sighed.

"I am sorry, friend. Forgive me."

Steven lowered his hand, fingers trailing through the air as he brushed the apology aside. It was in Buck's nature to inquire, to ask after him. Since they were lads, the brunet fellow had looked after him, acting as the elder brother he'd never had. With it came the acknowledgement that he would likely ask things that no other could, and express himself knowing that he would be heard, regardless if he wished to hear it. It went for him as well. He had not meant any ill, and Steven knew that.

"Nothing to forgive, James," he stated softly, the corner of his mouth curling. When James returned the grin, he pushed off the edge of the desk, going at once to the chair and seating himself. "It is enough to know that Lady Holly will be my bride shortly, after His Majesty's wedding to the Princess Wanda."

"Ah, yes. And won't that be a grand affair?" James murmured sardonically, casting his gaze heavenward.

"Buck..." the Knight-Captain drawled, a tremor of warning in his voice, but his friend scoffed wordlessly. It was no secret that Sir Steven's right-hand man and the king had a contentious relationship, at best. The two families had been bitter rivals for decades, from before the Starks had ascended to the throne. No one could currently remember the original feud that had broken relations between the families, though rumors speculated that it was a brutal murder perpetrated by one family against the other (the details lost to time). In any case, it left both Barnes and Stark clans unable to deal well with each other, even if they were on the same side. The bad blood between them was enough so that a portion of the Barnes clan had immigrated to the North countries so as to not endure the Starks any longer. Once the war started, the difficulties were merely dormant. Unfortunately, as with several families, a good portion of the Barnes family had lost members. On the northern side, there remained an uncle and his son, and of the southern, only James and his sister were alive.

And, if the ongoing feud wasn't enough, the differences in personalities made things all the worse between King Anthony and Sir James. Steven often acted as arbiter between them, but that was tiring, and trying, at times.

"The girl is half his age, princess or no," James was contending, folding his arms and stubbornly raising his chin. "Everybody knows that he is looking for the spare after his heir and with Queen Virginia gone—"

"You are treading a dangerous line, Sir James, one that you can ill afford to cross," Steven cut in then, unwilling to hear any more vitriol being spilled. Even if there was a measure of truth to his friend's words, that was not the place for it. Not when the very walls seemed to have ears at times. Giving him a hard look, he continued, "You know that. Find something else to occupy yourself with. Such as your reports on the new recruits."

The note of dismissal in his tone was impossible to misinterpret, and after the ticking in James's jaw had subsided, the brunet man bowed his head.

"Yes, sir," he muttered, swinging out of his obeisance and turning towards the heavy door. Pausing upon the threshold, he glanced over his shoulder at his oldest friend. Steven arched an eyebrow quizzically, and he grinned at him. "Still, congratulations, Steven. I do hope you and your bride will find happiness with one another."

With nothing else to say, James continued on his way out of the room, the wooden panels swinging shut behind him. Leaning back in his chair, Steven blew out a slow breath, closing his eyes.

"We shall see," he murmured under his breath, the hum and flutter in his heart thumping as he thought briefly upon Holly again. This was his world, the world she would be entering and becoming part of in just a few weeks' time. It was, all at once, small-knit and yet wide open. Likely she would find service within the court, acting as a lady in waiting to one of the higher-set women, or remaining with the Lord Fury's wife.

His lip curled at that. Lord Fury…he would need to have a word with the man, soon. And the king. And his troops, and…

' _Deep breaths,'_ reverberated through his mind, the lilt of the words feminine and warming _. 'Deep breaths. It will be well.'_

Swallowing hard, he did that, and then pulled a sheaf of unanswered letters towards him, losing himself in correspondence for the rest of the day, a small note penned for yet another as the sun slid lower in the sky.

 **xXxXxXx**

Holly bent her head, biting her lip to control the well of the laughter threatening to flow out. She had returned to Fury House late the night before (the journey having taken four days due to poor weather and the axle upon the carriage breaking), and had no time to tell of her news. After being welcomed back by the lady of the house, she was set to the task of mending some rent garments that would be given to the needy. Lady Fury had gone back into her private closet, wishing to read and write her letters in peace, while giving her ladies the chance to do some good work. As such, it did afford Holly the opportunity to expend her excitement. It was clear enough for all to see, but she wished to tell her dearest friend first.

And she did tell, the Lady Sarah Collins sitting beside her, needlework abandoned as she stared at her.

Her mouth was agape, green eyes brightening little by little.

"You are betrothed to the Knight-Captain?" Sarah breathed, her higher-pitched tone airy as she spoke. At the loud announcement of the news, the other young ladies in service to the count's wife turned to stare. All looked askance at Holly, daring her to admit it as truth. After her meek nod, the other women veritably dropped what they were doing, choosing to crowd around her. Sarah snatched at her right hand, noting the ring now perched there. It was a square sapphire, set on a wide gold band, and the others crooned over it as well.

(Holly had to bite her tongue as they did so. Sir Steven wore little jewelry, save for his chain of office on occasion, and so had little knowledge of it. Instead, he had gifted her one of the rings he had been given years ago. It was one that his mother had helped design for when he came of age, before her passing. The young woman was grateful for him doing so, touched by the gesture when he gave it to her.)

Questions flew back and forth, asking about the betrothal, wondering if the Knight-Captain was as tall as he seemed, and strong. A few stated their pleasure for her, some offered congratulations tinged with a hint of jealousy, and nearly nobody allowed the bride in question to speak for herself. Shrinking back into her seat, Holly shot a glance to her best friend, and Sarah finally shook herself from her shock. The petite woman stood, arms out and beckoning the others to allow the brunette woman a chance to breathe. One by one, the others peeled away, stepping back. None were willing to risk the wrath of the smaller woman, as she had by then achieved a reputation of not tolerating nonsense of that nature well.

In the moment, Holly was all too grateful for it. Taking the few free minutes they all had, she had confessed about the visit, that Sir Steven was a proper gentleman throughout (the misadventure during the hunting party kept to herself), and that he was indeed quite tall.

Brushing aside the cheekiness, one of the younger ladies crooned, "That is amazing, Lady Holly. He is so handsome, and strong!"

The brunette woman before them gave a small smile, thinking upon her betrothed.

"And very kind, and a good man, too," she murmured, almost to herself. The other ladies made little note of her words, instead focusing on the physical features of her intended. From the back of the group came a clearing throat, and the women nearby hushed. It was one of the older ladies, Lady Christine Everhart, forcing her way into the chatter. She was the senior of the few ladies in employ of the countess, sharp of wit and cunning in her own way. A liaison with the king had previously bought her the esteem of the court, but that had fallen swiftly once Queen Virginia had finished with her confinement after the birth of the prince. She had made no secret of it, admitting a few details to the others around her, enjoying the attention. Until that moment, she was always the one with ranking gossip to share, or a tale to tell. With Holly taking the reins, even though it would be brief, did not sit well with her. Sarah cut a look to her friend, the pair thinning their lips as Lady Christine preened at the turn of the heads towards her. Blue eyes gleamed and the strands of her blonde hair escaping from her head curled, becoming as ever. Taking a breath, she smiled without sincerity, a sharp eyebrow drawn up and her hands on her hips.

"That is wonderful news, Mistress Holly. What good fortune has befallen you, of all people," she stated, clasping her hands her then and eyes flashing. Holly raised her chin to acknowledge the well wishes (as false as they likely were, given the tone in which the older woman spoke), but said nothing. Stepping closer, she brushed down the skirt of her gown with an air of indifference, and inquired, "When shall you be wed?"

Holly stiffened her spine the slightest bit. Perhaps it was mean of her to think it, but she was a little pleased to see the discomfort looming around the older woman. Lady Christine always thought so highly of herself, and lorded her previous status as a royal mistress over the lot of girls serving the Countess Fury, as they were merely the daughters of lowly knights and lords. However, with each year passing, she saw her chances at marriage slipping by, the king's parting gifts when they had separated aging with her and the previous union he'd arranged having fallen through (rumor had it the bridegroom had refused due to her unwillingness to have any other but King Anthony at the time, and the monarch having spurned her petitions entirely). With her arrogance, coupled with an alarming naivety that surfaced at times, she was a difficult woman to endure.

Flashing a broad grin, the younger woman pronounced, "We wed this summer, after King Anthony has finalized his own marriage to Princess Wanda of Sokovia."

Lady Christine's saccharine smile dissipated, the sourness invading as the other women started to flutter and twitter again. Beneath the enthusiasm, Lady Sarah watched her friend, her joy lessened somewhat as she considered her words.

"During the progress? Will that not be inconvenient?" she asked, watching and spying what she knew would surface upon Holly's face. The telltale stain on her cheeks and the distinct uncomfortable set of her jaw spoke of how inconvenient it really was for her. She privately supposed, though, that the king would want to honor the leader of his guard in some capacity, and a wedding during the midst of the progress would accomplish that.

She did not doubt Holly had thought the same, and so she wasn't altogether surprised to see the light shrug she gave. Belatedly, she flicked her gaze onto the others surrounding them, remembering that even there, her friend would be watched.

"It's...it's planned to be one of the events along the way," the brunette woman confirmed, attempting to keep her grin in place. She was chagrined to note that the Lady Everhart had tilted her head, a smug set of victory adorning her features. She liked the idea that such an enormous honor made her uncomfortable, and would most likely titter about how from the start that Lady Holly was unsuitable for the role she was about to fill. Holly took a breath, not willing to concede more and give her the satisfaction of knowing she was, perhaps, correct in some regard. "Sir Steven and I will be wed, then return to my family's seat while the court continues the progress. At the end of August, we will rejoin the court when they are on the return trip to the capital."

The ladies around her asked for more details, such as the wedding gown and what had happened when he was there. However, the young woman gave away little else, as she did not have a gown chosen yet, nor did she wish to speak of the few moments she'd had with her intended. Interest in her waned, and one of the younger girls had turned to Lady Christine, asking about her brother and what news he had sent from the court. They flocked to her again, resuming their separate projects, leaving Sarah and Holly to their needlework again. Holly had picked up the shirt she was working on, but her friend watched as her shoulders tensed.

"A wedding during the progress," the petite lady ventured, spying Holly's stiffening posture. The empty smile that she had employed had fallen then, and Holly could only shrug again as she stabbed at the cloth.

"The king does favor him so, and it seemed the least we could do to humor him." She looked up, attempting to grin again. "His Majesty wants something grand for the captain of his army and his friend, and I cannot find fault in that."

The petite woman blinked rapidly at her companion, looking heavenward. "How on Earth could such a thing happen? My dearest friend, wedding Sir Steven Rogers."

Holly snorted inelegantly, shaking her head. "I am unsure how myself, but evidently my father and his were long in discussion about it before Papa's passing. And now, it is certain."

Pushing her sewing aside, Sarah grasped Holly's hands, pure happiness flowing from her.

"Holly, just think: in two months' time, you will be married to one of the bravest warriors in the kingdom. That is so wonderful."

The excitement below the surfaced bubbled up, and Holly nodded. "Yes, yes it is."

Even as she happily agreed with her companion, Holly could not help but think about the rest of what lay beneath the truth. That she would wed him, yet live with an unseen specter, looming in the shadows of her soon-to-be husband's heart. That she would become a wife, bound to another soul, until death. That he incited more emotions in her than she thought would be possible, all churning and swirling beneath the surface.

That, perhaps, she was already—

"Holly, are you unwell?" Sarah's voice cut across her musings, drawing her out. The concerned look upon the younger woman's face when she focused upon her said it all, yet she still asked, "Shall I get you some wine, or water?"

Holly canted her head in the negative, withdrawing her hands. "Nay, dear Sarah, stay. I am well enough. I promise."

Scrutiny passed over her, and Sarah's features tightened. Knowing she was about to push further on the matter, Holly felt a simultaneous relief and dread when the privy closet door opened. The countess, Maria Fury, stood there. As ever, her gown was immaculate, the navy blue of it almost gleaming darker as it shifted around her. Her face was stony, the angles of it sharpened, though the light in her eyes seemed to dance as she looked upon her ladies. Despite the severity of her person, they all knew her to be congenial. In that instant, though, she seemed to be doing her best to appear sober and dour.

"Lady Holly, may I speak to you a moment?" she called, beckoning the young woman to come forward.

"Yes, my lady." Holly rose, passing her work to Sarah before crossing to the door. Ignoring the pointed looks of the other ladies, she passed through to the private closet, shutting the door behind her. Rarely did she go into the room; only the serving maids and the countess had unlimited access. Not even the count went in without the permission of his wife. The far wall was lined with shelves, the precious commodity of books and manuscripts filling them. A portrait of the Count Fury, before his battlefield injury, was placed between the two small windows. It reinforced his authority, and his lady's authority, whenever one looked upon it. The room was bright enough, since it was morning, but it would be too dark to spend long in there soon enough. In the center of the room was a desk, laden with ledgers and parchments.

It was odd for a woman to have such things, at such quantities, in her private rooms, but the Lady Maria Fury was an oddity. Educated to an almost princely level, she was a distant relation to the king, though not enough of one to have been elevated any higher. Her marriage to the count had been something of a scandal, years ago, but she would not be dissuaded from the match. As it was, it had seemed to be a good pairing for them both, with her being a quiet and unobtrusive presence at the court when she did attend.

However, one would have to be foolish to think that meant she was truly as unobtrusive as she made herself appear to be, and Holly was no fool. She swallowed thickly as the countess went around to the other side of the desk, waiting until permission was given to come forward.

"I do apologize, madam, if I was being disruptive earlier," the younger woman said, hands twisting into the folds of her skirt. She could not think of any other reason to be summoned into the private sanctuary, other than that her mistress had been disturbed by the gushing of the others. "I was only—"

Lady Maria waved a hand gently through the air, cutting her off.

"I know you were merely satisfying the curiosity of the others. I do not fault you for indulging," she stated plainly, the grim façade she had in place falling away. Dropping her palm lightly atop her letters, she continued, "No, indeed, I wished to speak to you about other things."

Holly stepped closer, looking down at Lady Maria quizzically. "Yes, my lady?"

"Well, first allow me the opportunity to impart my congratulations on your upcoming nuptials," the older woman murmured, gesturing for her to sit in the chair before the desk. As Lady Holly curtsied her thanks and sat, she bit the inside of her cheek, glancing down at the hasty scrawl on the parchment before her. Tapping a thumb against it, the countess imparted, "That very subject does tie in to what I wish to speak to you about. Sir Steven sometimes works in conjunction with my own husband over certain...matters of state. I wish to broker peace between us prior to your wedding."

Holly's spine stiffened again, and her expression sobered.

"Are they not at peace already?" Her eyebrows inclined, and she could not help but ask, "And are we not, madam?"

The countess shifted in her seat, marked discomfort flickering over her features.

"We are, but they…well," she trailed off, uncertain on how much she could truly divulge to the younger woman. It would only be a short amount of time before Lady Holly discovered the true nature of her husband as the king's spymaster. Long had Count Fury acted in such a capacity, first for King Howard and then Anthony, but always serving to ferret out those who secretly wished the downfall of the monarchy, and the kingdom. The few times that he (and to a lesser degree, Maria) had worked with Sir Steven, they had been conducted on less than amicable terms. It would be apparent very quickly in what ways they interacted, but until then, she could impart her knowledge in generalities. "My husband is trusted with some matters of state more sensitive than your betrothed's, in some capacities. His methods are decidedly different from Sir Steven's. It has often caused them to clash despite working together. I want to smooth over the hurts of the past, and keep the lines of communications open. For the betterment of the country as well."

Holly's gaze narrowed, then. Pieces were interlocking in her mind, inferences made, and she inhaled deeply.

"How?" she asked, meeting her lady's gaze directly. When the countess did no more than stare blandly back, her eyebrows inclined. "You wish me to spy on my husband, madam?"

" _No_. I do not want that at all," Maria emphasized sharply. Though her husband had indicated in a missive that, if such a thing were possible, to try and sway the younger woman, she would not pursue such a course. The last few years had allowed the older brunette to understand the young woman in question, and her loyalty to those she cared for was all too clear within the first months of her service. There would be no way she could sway her to consider their way of thinking, due to her own beliefs and how she would learn her husband conducted business. She did not doubt that Holly would develop her own feelings on the matter, and they would oppose theirs in any case. No, it would be better to not try and change her mind, once things became clearer. Clearing her throat, she went on, "The men in our lives serve a common interest, and are devoted to it in varying ways. If _we_ can speak to one another, pass on what each is truly trying to say to the other, that would be a victory; we would be able to serve the country, too."

The younger woman continued to eye her suspiciously, though she was not outright dismissing the suggestion. The gravity of it, the enormity of what was proposed…it shook her insides to even dwell on it. That her betrothed would be involved in deep matters went without saying, but the level at which the Lady Maria was hinting they were at was daunting. She was no spy, and such a thing was all too clear, but…if she could aid Steven, aid their home and country in some way, then she should do so.

Still, the entire conversation was baffling, and she could not help but feel its weight upon her shoulders.

"I am unsure of how to respond, my lady," she confessed bluntly after several seconds, sighing under her breath as the countess' mouth curved into a tight smile.

"I merely ask you to think upon it, Lady Holly. That is all," she said, dismissal in her tone. Before Holly could rise, or even move in her chair, Lady Maria leaned forward, her eyebrow arching sharply. "And nothing we have discussed ventures beyond this room. Understood?"

Swallowing again, the younger woman gave a solemn nod, the harshness of her mistress' countenance melting within moments.

"Now, let us return to the others, and have Lady Sarah fetch her lute. I think some music is needed to brighten up our day, do you not agree?"

All Holly could do was nod, rising from her chair as the Lady Maria did. Following the countess out, the two women found the other ladies and girls to be in something of a flurry. One of the younger girls stated that a page had come, stating the count was on his way to the Lady Maria's rooms even then. As he was often away at court, Count Fury rarely came back to his country home with little notice. The presence chamber was being set and cleaned, and refreshments brought in.

In short order, the lady and her companions were ready to receive the count, and not too soon. Within moments of her taking her place at the front, the door opened again, the count announced.

Count Nicholas Fury entered, adorned in all black, right down to the jewels on his cross. As ever, he seemed to defy the world around him, with his hard posture and foreboding presence. The loss of his eye, now covered with a specially-tooled eyepatch, added to that air. The dark pate of his head gleamed even there, the severity of his person overpowering them all.

At least, until he looked directly at his wife, a small smile playing across his lips.

"My lord husband," Lady Maria breathed, crossing the room to greet him with a grin of her own. Taking her hands in his, he bent and pecked her cheek affectionately, inquiring quietly after her health. Once she had confirmed that she and all those in her care were well, he nodded.

"Dear wife. I have an announcement to make," he stated almost blandly, save for the glimmer in his iris. "At His Majesty's insistence, you are bid to court early. He wishes for the senior ladies of the court to help assist in preparations for his upcoming nuptials to the princess."

Something unspoken passed between the two, something that Lady Holly now understood slightly better. She bit her lip, watching from her place among the other ladies.

"And to provide her company, no doubt," the countess retorted passively, her eyebrows barely rising. The count smirked, and nodded minutely.

"Indeed. Your presence would be a balm in these times, my dear. And it may put a few things out of joint, but we shall have to leave on the morrow."

"Tomorrow?" gasped Lady Maria, well and truly surprised. The other women in her employ shot silent looks to one another. That was far too short notice to pack up a household and move to the court. Inevitably, things would be left in disorder, or forgotten entirely. Not to mention the fact that those would be left to manage the household in the family's absence would have nothing prepared for their going. Still, if it was a royal command, there was nothing for it. Which the countess acknowledged with a sigh, "Yes, we shall have to be burning the candle at both ends to see it done, but we shall."

"Very good. Shall we, my love?" the count inquired, turning towards the chairs set at the far end by the fireplace. As he guided his wife to the seats, he murmured, "Tell me about the goings on here."

Upon that cue, the ladies branched away, some to the sewing they had been doing, others to stand at attention to serve the count and countess. Lady Holly was among those who were sewing again, which she barely had picked up before Sarah had passed something into her hands.

"This arrived for you, Holly, as well," she whispered, sitting on a stool. Her lute was in hand, and she turned the pegs and strummed to get them in tune. For her part, Holly looked down at the folded parchment in hand. It was a little weathered, and the red sealing wax bore the imprint of a star. Recognizing the seal—and the thin script scrawling her name on the front—she took in a fast breath, her heart beating a little faster.

Glancing up from her tuning, Sarah kept her voice low as she asked, "Is it from Sir Steven?"

"It is," Holly told her, her tone equally hushed. She had told him that she would be returning to the Lady Fury's residence once her and his father had gone, but she had not thought he would write to her. Discreetly, she half-turned from the rest of the company, making sure to keep herself open enough so as to not appear like she was ignoring her master and mistress. Breaking the sealing, she looked at the short note that the Knight-Captain had sent her.

It was short, but he had let her know that he had arrived safely back at court, and found himself missing the quiet of the country. He found himself missing speaking with her, and she felt something inside her tug. She too missed his conversation; he was pleasant to talk to, and his voice was rich and low.

She missed his company as well, though inwardly she was screaming at how unwise it was to feel that way.

Her dark brown gaze strayed to the lines right before he bid her farewell.

… _ **It seems our parting happened so long ago, too long, in fact…I do look forward to the day we can speak to one another again, my lady, and be in each other's company…**_

"What does he say?" Sarah asked quietly, her strumming almost drowning out the words. Blushing, Holly clicked her tongue, tucking the note into the pocket of her gown.

"Never you mind," she replied, pretending at tartness. Sarah merely snickered, continuing to play with a sigh. The count's voice cut through the air then, drawing Holly further out of her private reverie to pay attention once more.

"—The king is looking to economize wherever he can," he was telling the countess, shaking his head as she outwardly grimaced. Lifting a shoulder, he murmured, "That does mean you shall have to limit yourself to two of your ladies, for the sake of the court."

The countess affixed a hard look upon him, but he spiked his brow at her, and she exhaled sharply.

"Hmm...very well."

Her gaze turned to her ladies, nearly all seeming to sway forward a little. To go to court meant opportunities for them all; a lady could be noticed by some lord for marriage, or another high-ranking official could see them and inquire as to their ability for potentially royal service. As well as that, there were entertainments to be had there: banquets and tournaments happened often, and state occasions could be choreographed.

All they would need was the chance, the gift of permission from the countess.

Raising her chin, the Lady Fury gestured out.

"Lady Everhart, Mistress Martin, what say you to being my companions?" she asked, her selections made. Holly blinked rapidly, the pattering of her heart increasing.

It seemed she would not be long away from Sir Steven, after all.

Lady Everhart, from her place beside the refreshment table, dipped a curtsy, her sweet smile unable to mask the smugness in her gaze.

"We are grateful to you, madam, and would be glad to accompany you," she ventured, her airy tone wafting out of her. Holly rose from her seat and curtsied as well, murmuring her thanks as the count and countess regarded her.

To court she would go, to the world that soon enough would be hers every day.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi, everyone.

I am deeply, terribly sorry for taking so long to get this chapter out. As I said in the last author's note of my other story, my new job literally ate up my time. I was under enormous stress and could not stomach even looking at my personal computer at times, let alone jotting down any lines. This sucked, because I truly do love writing. I hope this apology suffices, since making you all wait over two months for an update is cruel.

So here we are—Holly and Steven have returned to their places, but will not remain apart for very long. Also got to spend some quality time with Buck, and Lord and Lady Fury. Fun, huh?

The engagement ring as we know it really did not exist as a tradition back in the Renaissance period, as I understand. However, betrothal rings could be given as gifts, and would not be worn on the ring finger of the left hand when in that state. Hence why Holly's ring is on her right hand. Just a fun little tidbit for you all.

I do not intend for the next update to take months, since my workload is a little lighter this month, but we shall see. I shall endeavor to do my best and post something quicker. Pop by my Twitter, PhanProTweets, to keep updated on that.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any references made in the text.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	6. Arrival

Sir Steven stood quietly in an alcove, examining the milling courtiers in the great hall. The council meeting for the day had adjourned, the King's authorization put towards a number of laws brought up by Parliament. With that duty accomplished, the Knight-Captain had thought to take to a place among the people of the court, listen and observe what he could before he had to return to his men and the training exercises. Multitudes of gowns and capes, fustian and silks and satins alike swirled before him. Some greeted each other warmly, others openly ignored their rivals, and all were under his watchful eye.

"Well, isn't this quite a stir?" a voice remarked, pulling him out of his thoughts. Half turning, he smirked at James, a knowing glint in his gaze.

"How do you mean?" he asked innocently, affecting nonchalance.

Sir James clicked his tongue before affixing a hard look upon his friend.

"Playing coy doesn't suit you, Steven," the brunet man chided, snorting when Steven had the audacity to raise his eyebrows in response. Gesturing to the gathered crowd, he intoned, "You are on the king's council; do not tell me that he did not plot out the upsurge of noble ladies attending court."

At that, Steven did lift a shoulder, the corner of his mouth curling. As it was finally the day in question, he could speak of the matter at hand.

"He may have done," he retorted lightly, nearly snorting when Buck gave him an exasperated roll of the eyes. Raising a hand complacently, he continued, "To help the Princess Wanda become better accommodated to her new home and court, he thought it best that some of the senior ladies attend upon her. He informed us that he had sent out invitations, and that there will be a banquet tomorrow to celebrate the arrivals."

He spoke truly; King Anthony had done exactly that, orders sent via his chamberlain to start work immediately for the welcome. It had been some time since there was a great recall of the nobility, and there was no better time to introduce the princess to his premier courtiers. As the king's captain, he was informed first of the decision two days prior, with the intention of revealing to the remaining council that they would be allowed to spread the word. With the Count Fury's wife listed among the invitees, Steven's heart had given a lurch. As his new betrothed was a maid-in-waiting to the countess, it could well be that she would be among the ladies chosen to serve her mistress at court. However, since no word had arrived from her, and so he assumed it would not be.

They would have to content themselves with their letters, and that would have to be enough.

In the present moment, James could barely suppress a derisive chuckle.

"Indeed. I doubt he wants her to be disillusioned with all that is his, and so, this move."

Steven sent him a warning glance. "Buck, be kind."

The brunet man, for once, took the warning for what it was, and backed away from his continued contempt for the king's nature. Instead, he looked upon the courtiers as well, and raised an eyebrow.

"In any case, with the rise of ladies, why then not a rise in sport?" he ventured, partly sincere but also looking to get a rise out of his friend. The blond man beside him stiffened visibly, shaking his head.

"Perhaps for you," he replied. While Buck was welcome to attempt to court the noble ladies in his sphere, Steven would not. Betrothed as he was, he had no interest in doing what some of his compatriots did: look for a quick coupling or a mistress to warm his bed, sometimes only for a night. He was constitutionally incapable of such things. First with the duchess, now with Lady Holly; his word was given to his virtue and honor, and he had no intentions of betraying his word.

Buck clicked his tongue before patting him on the shoulder. "Too fastidious by far, Steven. Look, here comes the Lady Fury, and two of her maids."

Following his pointing finger, Sir Steven could see his friend spoke true. Lady Maria Fury had finally arrived, the black silk of her gown swishing around her as she cut a path through the gathered crowd. The page before her, one of the king's, asked for people to make way. As the throngs part enough to let them by, Steven was able to see her, and the ladies accompanying her, in better detail. One, in a gown of green and with dark, curious eyes, made him catch his breath.

"Holly," he gasped, surprised indeed to see her. Buck turned to face him again, noting his friend's countenance.

"What?" he wondered, and Steven felt the flush burn across his cheeks.

"My, my betrothed is here. She is a maid of honor to the countess, remember," he explained, having shared details with his friend upon his return to court. At once, Buck's eyes lit up, some mischief surfacing as he inquired which it was. Gesturing, Steven told him, "There, to the left."

"You spoke true, she is pretty. Though her companion seems to be...better built."

Taking a closer look at the other woman, the knight-captain frowned.

"Recall she is the sister of Lord Everhart. I suggest you tread lightly."

Buck snorted audibly at that, rolling his eyes. "Even I know better than to enter in a liaison with the king's previous affair."

His friend and commander eyed him up for a few moments after he said his piece, only to cant his head and look back out to the people gathered around the countess and her ladies. They had been stopped, confirmation to be obtained between page and doorman before they would be able to continue.

"Wise, my friend. I do hope that His Majesty feels the same way, once he knows she is here."

"Given how fast he dropped her in the past, I doubt he is willing to pick her up again." It was an undeniable fact: once the prince was born, the king had gotten the Lady Everhart out of his presence with all haste, and had not pursued her during the queen's second confinement. As he thought upon it, the brunet man beside him gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. "At least he will not have to worry about a Fitzroy showing up, eh? But still, I cannot believe your intended is here. You must introduce me to her."

Still staring at her, Steven felt a few thumps inside as Holly turned to look around. Her gaze, taking in their fill, suddenly landed on him. He took in another sharp breath, unable to help the slight curve of his lips as she stared back at him. She gave him a grin in return, only to look forward as the page gestured for the countess and her ladies to follow,

"She likely needs to find her bearings again," he said, finding his voice once more. "She is not often here, and to be thrust into this world with little experience can be difficult."

"She appears to be well to my eyes," Buck replied. Off the fast glance Steven gave him, he raised his hands in defeat. "Fine, not this day. But soon."

Tearing his eyes from his friend, he connected gazes with Holly for a final time before the heavy doors swung shut behind her. At once, those who had noticed the glances passed between them were twittering with gossip, the word beginning to spread now about the lady who had made eyes at the Knight-Captain, and who she could be. It was time to leave now, and not feed the gossip any longer than necessary.

"Soon," Steven promised Buck, his mind churning as he started his journey away, his betrothed's grin haunting him as he departed for his own quarters.

 **xXxXxXx**

The days spent traveling had worn Holly down, but she had borne the brunt of it as best she could. With every mile passing and bringing them all closer to court, she'd found her mind often turning to her intended. There was no time to write him, the flurry of packing and early departure preventing her from doing so. So occupied was she from that moment that even when they arrived at the few inns to spend the night, she could do no more than ponder how he would feel about her appearance once she arrived with Lady Fury. Would he be upset, despite having written to her about missing her company? Fear of pretty words not matching true intent sat ill in her stomach, but there was little she could do about it. Soon enough, the carriage bearing her, the Lady Fury, and Lady Everhart had arrived in the capital, the wagons and carts transporting their goods not far behind. The city was bustling as ever, merchants in their stalls hawking their wares, a playhouse built in the shape of the royal family's emblem passed as they went. The Triskelion, the large palace in the midst of the city, shone brightly, its many panes of glass reflecting the sun and acting as a beacon for the weary travelers. Lady Christine had muttered to herself multiple times about the inconvenience of traveling, but Lady Fury had adapted well. She seemed to have been utterly revived by the hum and thrum of the city, and when the palace was in full view, she actually smiled wide. Holly herself felt relief; the rock and jolt of the carriage over the roads mad her feel stifled, and she was ready to reach the end of the journey. There was little else that she and Christine could agree upon, but when the carriage had stopped in the western courtyard, she found herself mirroring the sigh of satisfaction that the blonde woman had let loose.

The countess was greeted by one of the pages of the court, his royal livery marking him out as he approached. Bidding her to come to her husband's apartments, he led the way, instructions for unloading barked among the servants as they left. Count Fury had ridden out ahead of them, hastening back to court to be part of the council and to give his servants the chance to freshen up the space. Lady Maria was familiar with all the twists and turns of the corridors, but she allowed herself to be led, thanking the lad for his assistance once they had arrived. The Count Fury's apartments, which were situated rather closely to the Great Hall, were comfortably furnished, even if there was little décor or touches that indicated the status he held at court. Madam Fury would see to it with the belongings she'd had brought with. Around the central sitting room, the great bedchamber for the couple was off to the left, the walnut door revealing it. Two other doors led to smaller chambers, trundle beds pushed in. One went to Lady Christine, the other to Holly, and both of them were simultaneously wondering at their good fortune. Were it another lord or lady they were serving, the likelihood of having an attached room would not have been as strong. Most of those who served the higher nobility had rooms situated in different parts of the royal residence. While some would likely think it a burden to be constantly at hand for their masters, Holly was grateful that she would not have to constantly relearn and navigate the grand palace every time her mistress needed her. Trunks, small furniture and other belongings were arriving then, and so would begin their work.

After situating her trunk in her small room, Holly found herself bid to change out of her traveling gown. A request, directly from the king himself, had arrived, stating that Lady Fury was to make her way to the princess for introductions as soon as could be. She would be among the first ladies to meet the Princess Wanda, as the Count Fury had said would be the case, but none had anticipated her being called so quickly. Other maids were brought in, pausing in the unpacking to better attire the ladies and the countess. Choosing her favored green gown, Holly was laced up and stepping out of her room just as Lady Christine had left hers, her gown satin and deep red. Selected for the countess was black silk, jet beads lining the bodice, and they assisted her in dressing as well. Subdued jewels were chosen for her, and soon enough, they set out, following the page through the halls to the central hub of the great hall.

So many had gathered there, far more than Holly could recall ever being at court, and so she kept her eye trained upon her mistress as they walked, determined not to stumble or lose her way. As they waited for the page to confer with a doorman of the princess's wing, she took her chance to look around. Lost in the throngs, she soon found her eyes drawn to a far alcove. Half hidden, standing and gaping back at her, was Sir Steven. Her eyes had opened wider, shock upon his face and guilt creeping through her. She really should have sent him some warning, but alas, it was too late for that. The shock started to melt, something like a grin curving his lips, and she felt her heart give the briefest flutter. Barely noting the fellow beside him (dark haired and handsome, too, but not her personal preference), she focused on him briefly, daring to give him a small smile just before the doors swung open and the page beckoned them forward.

She glanced once back over her shoulder, her eyes finding his once more before the doors closed behind them.

A few more turns, and soon enough, the small group was deposited before tall, carved doors. The servant before them bowed to the countess, opening the door and stepping just inside to make an announcement.

"Your Highness, the Countess Fury is without."

"Let her in," an accented voice commanded mildly. Stepping back, the page bowed his head as Lady Maria and her two companions. Countess Fury strode in confidently, Christine and Holly two steps behind her in deference to her rank, but once they had gotten close enough, all three sank into deep curtsies. With her head bowed as well, Holly chanced glances out the corners of her eyes. The richness of the tapestries adorning the walls, the thick carpet beneath her feet, and the sumptuous furnishings littering the space certainly bespoke of it belong to royalty, and awe of it coursed through her. Several ladies stood within the rooms as well, their russet-colored gowns marking them as the ladies-in-waiting on duty for the day.

"Greetings, my lady," the princess's voice rolled, her words flavored with the tones of her homeland. Sokovia was not always an ally, but with the shifting winds of the times, they had recently aligned themselves with Marvella. Prince Pietro, having ascended to the throne recently, had sought a worthy match for his sister, and could find none better than King Anthony. Royal as they were, they had to learn the common languages of the world, and so while she spoke their tongue with some ease, it would never cause her to lose her original pronunciations.

Bidden to rise with a small gesture by the princess, the Lady Fury straightened, Holly and Christine following her example. Looking at her properly, the young brunette looked over the royal woman. Princess Wanda had auburn hair that flowed past her shoulders, her wide eyes set in an open face. She appeared to be the same age as Holly, her bearing and stance regal. Green eyes examined those before her, hands clasped briefly before one extended (to still trembling, perhaps? Holly would never venture the guess aloud, and so kept silent). Stepping forward, the countess took her hand and bent to kiss it.

"Pleasure to meet you, Your Highness," she said, real warmth in her tone. Letting the princess take her hand back, she offered, "I trust you are well?"

"Yes, I am, thank you," the younger royal replied. A weary set came upon her brow, even as her smile remained. "Though, as you can see, I am still adjusting to my new life."

She inclined her head towards her surroundings, and the multitudes of servants in the room. Out the corner of her eye, Holly caught Christine biting her lip, the barest grimace suppressed as she ducked her head. Likely, the blonde woman had choice thoughts about the princess and her adjustments, but would not say a word. For her part, the Lady Fury nodded in commiseration.

"As many of us have, madam. I hope you do not mind my calling upon you," she said. The princess curved the corners of her mouth higher, humor now in her gaze. She understood all too well why the countess was there; she was no fool. However, there would be no other allusion to it beyond that increased grin.

"I do not mind at all. It gives me pleasure to meet with the infamous count's wife. In Sokovia, there are some stories told about you and your husband," she pronounced, another flutter of whispers falling in her wake. That made Holly's eyes widen; few would dare say such a thing to Countess Maria's face, despite the truth of the statement. The Lady Maria's rumored past, which sported intrigues and instances of spying in other royal households at the count's behest, often floated around her. Thinking she might take offense to it, Holly was instead surprised by the light chuckle her mistress gave.

"I can imagine. Would you like to put them to me, see what is true and what is not?" she offered, and the princess laughed outright.

"I would enjoy that. Help distract me for a moment from all the wedding preparations. But first, your ladies?"

Taking the cue, the countess dipped her chin before she stepped to the side.

"This is the Lady Christine Everhart, Your Highness, sister to the Viscount Everhart." Lady Fury gestured for the young woman in question to step forward, and as she did so, another ripple of whispers bloomed in her wake. The princess maintained her pleasant demeanor, but the sudden cold glint in her eye was all too clear. Lady Christine's reputation had certainly preceded her, and had likewise gone out of the kingdom as well. The lady dropped into a graceful curtsey, murmuring pleasantries and proper obeisances, but when she stepped back, the tension of the situation showed in the tightness of her smile. Lady Fury nodded to Holly then, and the younger woman felt the tremors of nervousness flutter through her stomach. "And this is Lady Holly Martin, sister to the Lord Martin."

A spark of recognition floated over her face, and the green irises had softened as she looked upon her. Holly had dropped into her own curtsey, but found her tongue stilled and heart trembling as the princess looked upon her.

The royal woman cleared her throat, and spoke again. "You are the one intended for the Knight-Captain of the Guard, yes?"

The air of the room shifted, all eyes turning onto Holly. Whispered mutterings took place as all the princess's ladies stared. The rumors had traveled fast, it seemed, and now new words about her betrothal would fire along the palace halls. The clasping fingers tightened, and she tried to swallow discreetly. Attention was not something she was remotely used to; after all, she had no great standing in the court, or even in her own family.

"Yes, Your Highness," she replied, gaze focusing on the hem of the royal lady's gown. "Not until after your wedding, of course."

"Naturally." Princess Wanda smiled gently, turning her attention back to the countess. "Come, Lady Fury, let us talk."

She tipped her palm to the chairs by the fireplace, bidding the countess to follow. The older woman did so, little and pretty remarks passed between the two as they sat. Two ladies-in-waiting to the princess served the women wine and sweetmeats, while the others found places to stand or sit. The unspoken signal allowed the other ladies in the room, Christine and Holly included, to find quiet occupation while the nobles conversed. Some of the ladies stayed on hand to serve their royal mistress and her companion, but the others took up some sewing, or tidied, or went about other duties. As the newcomers, there was little for Holly or Christine to do in rooms that did not belong to Lady Fury, and so contented themselves with sitting among the sewers. Christine took a plum seat by the window, making sweet remarks upon the charity clothing being made, while Holly was relegated to a spot nearer one of the sewing baskets. Lifting it up, she sat down upon the stool that it had been perched upon, handing the ladies thread or pieces of cloth as needed. The conversation was quiet, but the examinations were almost piercing, the women beside her murmuring slightly as she sat quietly. One, with bright red hair peeking out from her hood and ocean-colored eyes, assessed her thoughtfully, but she kept her face placid. Something about her air, disinterested save for the flash of her irises, made Holly's gaze stray to her more than once in curiosity, but soon enough, the whispers turned towards her.

"You are truly the one betrothed to Sir Steven?" asked one of the other ladies, one who had previously served Queen Virginia if she remembered correctly. When Holly merely nodded, the other woman's eyes widened, and she wondered, "How on earth did you manage that?"

"As with many betrothals, it was the management of my relatives and his. My brother and his father recently concluded the suit, which my father had started when he was alive."

"Still, the Knight-Captain..." another lady interjected, her expression adopting a dreamy air. Some of the others reflected that dreaminess, and Holly felt bristles up her back at the obvious moonstruck infatuation of others. The second lady continued to her nearest compatriot, "Have you seen his arms? I believe he could rend cabers in half with his bare hands."

"And how tall," the third woman breathed back, the tone of her high-pitched voice almost making Holly laugh aloud. It was as if the woman had never seen a man such as her intended, and never would again. "Taller than His Majesty, and golden besides."

That, the Lady Holly could not deny, and dipped her chin. "He is an intelligent man, and kind."

The lady with the red hair finally spoke then, her mouth curving now into a teasing grin.

"Is that all you can say about your husband-to-be? Do you not think him handsome at all?" she asked, though it was less chiding and more inquisitive. The brunette, therefore, did not take offense, and instead answered honestly.

"I do indeed, but there is more to him than merely his strength or his size."

It was at this point that the Lady Christine allowed a scoff to pass her lips. The turn of her mouth brought a sour air to her countenance; it seemed to her that all anyone could speak of in her presence was the blasted betrothal between the one of the youngest—and, in her opinion—least deserving girls serving Madam Fury. Bitterness crept around her eyes, and she knew it as well. But it could not be helped; it used to be she who reigned supreme, as a king's mistress, but now the little thing with not as a fine a figure or face as she would be rewarded with marriage to a man who was high in the king's esteem. She had been fobbed off from the moment the prince was born, sent away no matter how much she begged to return.

The little mouse from the country had done nothing, and deserved nothing, and so would be reminded of that. It would be best, in that case, to inform the younger woman that her match also meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

"Perhaps. He does sit high in the king's favor, though I cannot imagine why," Christine said, the glances being thrown in her direction widening significantly. Speaking ill of the man, while not unheard of, was not something that happened terribly often. Holly's face furrowed into a frown, along with several others'. However, now that she had started she would not pause. Taking a deep breath, she clucked her tongue in feigned dismissal. "Making a shield once hardly renders him a hero. He is only a lord, outside of being a knight, as well. Not a _duke_ , certainly, and many can see that."

Lady Christine looked at Holly directly, smirking as every word hit her. The other ladies went silent, gazes darting to their feet or up to the ceiling. The not-so-subtle reference to Sir Steven's public failure to woo the now-Duchess of Brookland had been weaponized, used to illustrate her supposition of the man's lack of worthiness. Holly's hands clenched at the folds of her skirt, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment and anger.

Her tongue, however, was only stunted for a few moments.

"He is satisfied with his position, Lady Everhart." Her dark eyes flashed, and she honed her point before pronouncing lightly, "Some of us are, and don't hold onto delusions of grandeur."

The hit was sharp, and Christine's bright gaze reflected the wound as she scowled.

"I beg your pardon?"

The brunette woman shrugged her shoulders, the swirling anger on her intended's behalf fueling her and allowing her to answer.

"I am merely saying that my future husband doesn't aim for a higher position because he does not wish it," she stated, though the glances and derisive smile hidden behind hands belied her feigned innocence in the matter. Lady Christine, while flighty, was not a complete fool, and understood all too well what wasn't said. Her eyes narrowed, and she clicked her tongue again.

"Truly. Well, I doubt His Majesty would elevate him much, even if he did lobby for it. Anthony can well measure the worth of any man, or woman." A few muted gasps rang around her, but she took no notice of them. It was not forbidden to use a monarch's Christian name, but etiquette and courtly rules declared that in public settings, courtiers were not supposed to do so. The familiarity was unseemly, particularly as the king was no longer familiar with the woman in question. Ignoring that deliberately, the blonde woman spat, "Probably why he gave his approval to your match, then. Neither of you are entirely suited to greater offices."

Hands clenched into fists, and Holly met her gaze, as much as she wished to just get up and leave. Neither had permission to leave, and neither would allow the other to gain more ground. Inhaling deeply, she tried to calm herself, moving her grip to the basket in her lap and pawing lightly at the scraps of cloth within.

"Quite," Holly muttered, meekness masking the sting of the words as they came out. "His Majesty does have the uncanny ability to keep those he knows to be good and loyal close to him, and cast away the unworthy."

The retort was too much for the Lady Everhart to bear, and so she abruptly stood, staring furiously at the little chit who had, on too many occasions lately, spoken to her thusly.

"How dare you? You little—"

"Have I said something wrong?" Holly countered, the quaver in her voice and the furrow of her brow the outward indications of her own anger. Fighting hard, she made her tone stay even as she stated, "I was just making an observation about the king."

An accented voice pierced the air, concern lacing it and commanding their collectives attentions. The confrontation had, unfortunately, drawn the attention of the noble ladies, and the princess in particular.

"Lady Everhart, you are well?" Princess Wanda inquired, and the older blonde woman turned at once to face her. The redness in her cheeks could not be hidden, so she curtseyed low in an attempt to collect herself.

"Might I be excused?" she found herself asking, chastising herself inwardly for it. She would not succumb to a tantrum in these apartments, and would not admit defeat to a lower woman such as Lady Holly, and so felt she had no other choice. "I feel a need to take the air."

"Of course," the princess granted her permission, stating that the Lady Natalia would accompany her so she would not lose her way. The briefest of frowns tugged at the corners of her mouth, but the older woman could not refuse the royal before her. Shown slights on all sides, Christine tolerated the red head with the bright eyes as she stood, practically tripping over her feet in her haste to exit the chambers. Lady Natalia shared a pointed look with the princess at the door before leaving, Holly wondering at it before a clearing throat caught her attention. The princess had turned her gaze onto her, and just beyond, she could see Lady Fury's eyes glowing with reproach. She felt her insides shrink and freeze as Princess Wanda requested, "Lady Martin, can we speak?"

Bowing her head, Holly murmured, "Yes, Your Highness."

Carefully, she rose, the other ladies pointedly averting their eyes as she settled the sewing basket back upon the stool. Stepping away, she stopped a few feet from the princess, lowering herself into another curtsey. Would the princess cast her out of the room, and the court, for her actions?

If it were so, then so be it, her rebellious heart whispered. She, while hasty with her words, had no regrets about them.

Leaning forward in her chair, the princess raised her eyebrows.

"I do not think Lady Everhart likes you," she announced. The tremor of good humor shocked Holly, and she raised her head, unable to engineer a proper response.

"I..."

"That is unfortunate," the princess remarked, her green eyes lined with amusement, and a deeper layer of understanding. "For you seem well enough."

The brunette woman blushed at the praise, though she lowered her gaze again.

"I am not so sure I am, Princess."

Indeed, Holly was chiding herself inwardly at being so stupid as to openly oppose the king's former mistress, and in public, no less. It was not a wise thing to do, but she had felt, in the moment, that she'd had no choice. Now, though, she felt the fool. Princess Wanda shook her head at that, standing from her chair and causing the others to stand up as well.

"You are," she countered, albeit gently. Lifting her chin, the royal woman pronounced, "It is her loss. Sir Steven will be a lucky man, I think."

There was little that Holly could have said in response to that, and she bent her shaking knees into a curtsey. Her head was bowed as she stepped back, allowing Lady Fury to thank the princess for her hospitality and promise to return again for another visit on the morrow. Granting them both permission to leave, Princess Wanda bade Lady Maria and Holly farewell, the two women backing out of the apartments with respectful obeisances.

 **xXxXxXx**

Finding their way back to the apartments, Holly waited as her mistress strode over to the fire place. Lady Maria had a look of intense concentration on her face, and the younger woman was not about to interrupt her thoughts. For all she knew, a punishment for her spat with Lady Christine (who had yet to return to the apartments) was being contemplated, and she was determined not to call attention to herself just yet.

Within a few minutes, Lady Maria turned to face her again, a slow breath exhaled as she looked at her maid-in-waiting.

"That went well," she remarked, as though continuing a conversation that was paused only moments before, and Holly was briefly confused. Taking a few steps closer, the young woman swallowed.

"Were you able to help Her Highness with easing her mind, madam?" she asked, wary of the ground she was treading. Lady Fury lowered herself into a nearby chair, dipping her chin.

"To a point. She is young, in a new country, and still leery of her ground. It will take some time before she finds much comfort. But I do intend to keep trying." Her bright gaze shifted onto Holly then, and a fine eyebrow arched. "Although I do hope that the disagreement between you and the Lady Everhart can be rectified."

So there was the start of it, the maid thought, dread washing over her. However, she found herself taking in a deep breath, stepping a little closer to the countess. If she was to be dressed down, she would rather have said her piece before that happened.

"If I may, my lady, I thought I was doing no more than defending one who is to become my family and my husband. And I am loyal to my family."

Lady Maria's other eyebrow rose, and she clicked her tongue. "All well and good, but keep in mind that others have familial loyalty on their side as well. And the Everharts still have some power, despite the previous fall of one sister."

Holly bowed her head again, knowing she spoke truly. Curious about the last point made, she felt another question bubble forth and escape her.

"Have you brought her here to rectify the past?" she inquired. Lady Fury outwardly laughed at that, the sharp edges of her demeanor falling away for a few moments.

"Hardly. She thinks she did no wrong, and her brother couldn't find a way to make her see otherwise. No, she has other uses for the time being..." she trailed off, contemplating a private thought before continuing, "though I'm not sure how long."

The younger Lady Martin sighed, and decided to proceed with her primary thought, "Shall I take it then that you are displeased with me, madam?"

For a long moment, the countess looked at her, her bright gaze betraying nothing of her pondering. Holly felt her throat go dry as she waited, a little sweat starting to warm her, when the older woman finally canted her head in denial.

"Not displeased, but perhaps a bit more subtlety should be employed in the future." She shot her a significant look and imparted, "Particularly in front of the royal family."

Chastened indeed, the girl before her curtseyed, murmuring her compliance. Casting her glance around the apartments, the countess rose from her seat, gesturing for Holly to follow.

"And now, we must unpack all of this," she said, motioning to the remaining boxes and trunks that had been abandoned in their haste to meet the princess. "If you would attend to my study desk and jewelry, Lady Holly, I will set Lady Christine to the task of storing the rest of my clothes and headdresses when she returns."

Doing as she was told, Holly brought her mistress the desk, the older woman busying herself with answering the correspondence she had neglected on their travels. The tasks allowed each to work in silence. Within the hour, Lady Christine had returned, her countenance calmed enough so that she could being pleasant under the countess's eye, but glowering at Holly as they performed their separate duties. The sun crested, and soon enough, Lady Christine was sent wit a message to the apartments of Lady Maria's cousin, who had arrived with her own husband two days previously. As the last of the jewels were cleaned and set in the carved box set up near the wardrobe, a knock came at the door. Before Lady Fury could bid Holly to answer it, a page of the count's household at court came in, bowing to his mistress.

"My Lady Fury, Sir Steven Rogers is without," he announced. The lad chanced a glance to the woman in the green gown and went on, "He wishes to call upon the Lady Holly."

"Ah, I was wondering when he would choose to come," the countess remarked, a knowing grin on her lips. Turning in her seat, she looked to her maid-in-waiting and asked, "Would you like to see Sir Steven, Holly?"

Setting down the bracelet she had been cleaning, the younger woman discreetly swallowed and nodded.

"I, I would, my lady."

Maria smiled gently at her; she had tenacity and courage, the younger woman, but she had a right to be nervous. Being married was no sinecure, and being promised in marriage to a man who held such a position as he would inspire all kinds of feelings. Some may have thought she had little left in her but cunning and sly intelligence, but the countess did have room in her heart for more.

"Send him in," she bade the page, setting her desk aside and standing. Lady Holly crossed before a window with a seat built into it, only to be stopped by a hand motion from her mistress. Halting, she waited as her betrothed entered the room. His bright gaze flashed as he saw her, but etiquette dictated that he had to greet the countess first. As he bowed to her, Maria bent her head and grinned wider. "Sir Steven, always a delight to meet with you."

"Lady Fury, I trust you are well," he responded, straightening at once. Impeccable manners, as ever, she'd noted, but she could see how his attention was trying to divert elsewhere. His stiffened spine would not allow it, and while she could make him stand there and force a conversation with her for her own entertainment, she was not willing to do so.

"In excellent health, sir. But I doubt you truly wished to exchange pleasantries with me," Lady Maria intoned, the corner of her mouth turning up. Gesturing towards the window, where Holly stood, she proclaimed, "There is your betrothed, and here I shall be."

The permission granted, Sir Steven bowed once more to her as she sat back down, her travel desk taken up and her body purposefully positioning so that she was not openly facing them to listen in. Slowly, he approached the Lady Holly, the sunshine of the day coming through the window and casting a warm glow around her.

The churn in his mind had not quieted since he first saw her, and only now, when he was able to get away from his duties for the day and talk to her, could his mind rest.

"My lady." He reached out, carefully taking her hand and lifting it. Bending, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and Holly could not help the flush that spread across her skin.

"Sir," she breathed, bending her knees in a short curtsey as he straightened again. Helping her to sit first on the cushioned window seat., he lowered himself down to sit beside her.

"I apologize for not coming to greet you sooner, but as I had no idea that you were to come, I hope that can be forgiven," he told her, a wry twist to his own grin coming. Stifling a snicker, Holly raised a palm.

"Nothing to forgive, I assure you. Particularly as, you have pointed out, you had no notice. I barely had any myself." Searching for a diplomatic explanation—especially since the countess was still within earshot—she confessed, "This was a fast request from His Majesty, for the countess to come and meet the Princess."

The lack of surprise in Steven's expression told her that he had likely known about the announcement, if not that she had been specifically asked to come by her mistress. Clearing his throat, he began to shift in his seat, glancing away from her.

"As it is, now that I know that you are here, and there is some time open to us, I…I actually came here with the intention to, er, well, court you," he said, inwardly chiding himself for blundering through the statement. With his previous romantic forays being ultimate failures, he had not the same confidence he'd had with the duchess. He had to rebuild in many areas of his life, including engaging in the norms of courtly love. Instead of outright scoffing at him or laughing, Lady Holly smirked, tilted her head to the side.

"That is very sweet of you, sir. How did you plan on doing so?"

Relieved that she was not jesting at his expense, he offered, "I thought a walk in the gardens would be suitable, if you were not feeling too tired."

At once, the young woman perked up. After being trapped traveling in the carriage, and then bound indoors to unpack, she was beginning to feel stifled then. A walk out of doors would be splendid, but she had her duties to consider.

"I am not, but..." she trailed off, looking to the countess then. Lady Maria, still writing her letters, did not glance up as she spoke.

"You may go; enjoy the gardens. Be back in time for supper, I will need your assistance in dressing," she said, permission granted and admonition in place. Eager to not lose another minute, Holly rose, Steven doing the same at her side.

"Yes, madam." She bobbed a curtsey, the knight-captain beside her bowing. Another of the lower maids was bid to walk behind them at a discreet distance, though her presence was not even noticed as Holly took Steven's proffered arm.

Almost as soon as they exited the apartments, the young woman could feel the shift. Those whose passed did not look through her, as though she were a pane of glass, but now at her. Lady Everhart was returning from her errand, and, despite appearing as if she wished to glare at her further, she stepped back, giving them way as they walked. Holly did not dare to look back at her, as such a gesture could be taken as a gloat and used as fodder against her, but the stiffening of her spine and the grip upon her betrothed sleeve did not escape his notice.

"You are afraid," he murmured quietly, and her hand tightened upon his sleeve.

"Not as such," she muttered, keeping her voice low so as not to encourage any eavesdroppers. Gaze focusing ahead of her, she managed a chuckle before confessing, "I've never been to court on the arm of such an illustrious man before."

The bittersweet edge of the grin he gave her then told her so much, as well as implying that such a thing would follow them for years to come. Sir Steven had earned his good reputation and his continued career was still fueling it. Romantic mishaps aside, he truly did have an inspiring presence in the court, and it was a presence that she would be in for the rest of her life. It was no easy thing he was asking her to live with, and they both understood that. His free hand came up then, patting the fingers laid along his arm in a gentle caress.

"You'll learn to bear it," he stated. Leaning a little closer, he whispered, "Perhaps you will be able to teach me how, as well."

That got her to chuckle again, and Steven was filled with a sense of peace as they left through one of the nearest doors. The gardens of the Triskelion were less uniform than others, instead blending the flowers and plants of the country to act a showcase of color and sensory delight. Paths were made, of course, but it was no knot garden, to be sure. Coming upon an allee of trees (flowering to bear fruit again, as summer was on the horizon), the companionable silence that had encompassed the pair ended as Steven asked after the journey. Reassuring him, Holly noted that it had been decent, though she once again expressed her desire to ride her horse instead. Cheered by the notion of another ride or hunt in future, the knight-captain likewise asked if her archery lessons had gone on. Sadly, she was unable to have Master Barton teach her while she was in service, but she had managed to get in a little time with the bow when she was not required to wait upon the countess. Other questions followed, with her wondering how his duties had been for the day, and what he had planned for the morrow, as well as their mutual inquiries about their separate families. It was comfortable, he mused privately, almost unbelievably so, to speak to her, and he was glad he did not have to go without her conversation and companionship for too long. Before he could think too hard on that, he found himself asking what the duration of her stay would be. He knew some of the grand lords would only invite their ladies to court for a short duration, and the Count Fury was busier than even he. Would the countess bother to stay longer than she must?

Holly glanced up at him then, and sighed. "Until King Anthony and Princess Wanda wed. We are to have...a very public betrothal, sir."

At that, Sir Steven frowned, his focus turning to the trees as they melted into rows of rose bushes.

"I can see that already."

The grit of his tone caught her, and Holly stared up at him, her brow furrowing.

"Will that be a problem?"

It was the knight-captain's turn to let out a short breath. "Only in that I know you are not used to being as public as this will be. For all intents and purposes, you have lived a quiet and private life, my lady. You have not spent enough time at court—"

"I have spent enough time to know when to speak and when to hold my peace, sir," Holly cut him off then, her dark eyes narrowing slightly. Though she did not have the experiences that he had, to say she was unaware of the vipers' nest she treading through was incorrect, and she hastened to set the matter to rights. Halting in her steps, she removed her hand from his arm and stared up into his bright gaze. "I have spent enough time here to realize that not all is what it seems, and that one must be wary of the traps and pitfalls that could endanger a young woman. If you are mistaking quietness for ignorance, that is hardly an assumption you can afford."

Her bluff and bluster had taken Steven aback, but only for a moment.

"Perhaps. But then again, I'm not the one who had a public row with the Lady Everhart," he pointed out, revealing his knowledge of the gossip. That portion was not difficult to miss, as the ladies of the court were all too willing to carry it from the princess's rooms out to remaining courtiers, the confrontation between the former mistress of the king and a lowly country lady making it all the way to the armory.

Holly sniffed hard, hands going onto her hips. "It was hardly a row. We may not have agreed on a few points of conversation, but that does not a row make."

"So you say," the blond fellow retorted, matching her stance. "You still added grist to the mill."

The look cast in his direction was a knowing one, but before he could form another response, he was stilled by her speaking.

"This would likely have happened anyway in the future. I may wear a color that made me look sickly. I could trip and fall in the Great Hall, shaming myself in such a way. The people who inhabit these halls will, over time, gossip about anything and everything. I would rather they gossip about my pride in my betrothed's nature than anything else."

The confession brought them both up short, with Holly realizing what she'd said and her face flushing scarlet as Steven stared at her in wonderment.

"Pride...of me? That was why...?"

Flushing darker, the lady before him waved a hand through the air, as if it would banish what she had said to the mists.

"It is of no matter, not if we let it go," she told him, taking a few moments before she was able to look him in the eyes again. "Let them see only our forward faces, and put the matter behind us."

The swell in his chest could not be ignored, though he merely bowed his head at her request.

"You may be right, Lady Holly," he conceded, turning to start the walk again. Side by side they journeyed, the whir of insects and the chirps of bird heard as they proceeded from the thorned bushes to plots of other flowers. Some other courtiers were navigating the winding paths, though none seemed to notice or wished to approach the Knight-Captain and his betrothed.

As the pair made a turn towards an ornamental fountain to the left, Sir Steven sidled closer to Lady Holly, chewing the inside of his lip for a moment before speaking again.

"I did not mean it to take you to task, madam. I just wished to reiterate the need for caution," he said, urging her to see his it from his view. "For some, the court is the center of the world, and as such, we are going to be the focus, given our positions."

"Your position," she retorted, though she was grinning a little ruefully as she did so. When he looked at her, she shrugged a shoulder. "I will say that not many care about the daughter of a knight."

At that, Steven stopped in his tracks once more, only to take both of her hands in his. His grip made her draw closer, the tremors within both of them fluttering in their stomachs. However, he regained command of his voice and used it to emphasize the point he had to make.

"You are the future wife of a knight, a leader in the King's army and of his personal guard. Granted, that position will be given through our marriage, but even if it were to…end, you would still garner attention."

There was no lie in his statement, and Holly could acknowledge it. As it was, now that the court knew of her (through her actions, unfortunately, but it was what it was), she would have to expect the eyes upon her, and she would have to always take care of her reactions and bearing in the sight of others. After nodding her understanding, she paused, taking a deep breath before smirking up at him.

"How fitting then, that my first public act was to defend that which I will be a part of."

Despite himself, Steven found himself smirking back, his head canting as he did so.

"I suppose. I still do not like it, even if I appreciate the sentiment behind it," he said, and he was rewarded with another genuine grin, the expression lighting up the young woman's face.

"Duly noted, sir," she replied, daring to drop a mock curtsey. Laughing at her movement, he offered her his arm once more, and the pair continued their walk, each contemplating the future as they went.

* * *

 **A/N:** It has been a long time, hasn't it?

For those of you who have been waiting for a new chapter since October...believe me, I am deeply sorry. Between being incredibly stressed out at my job to the point of resignation, finding and starting a new job, meeting a man I love with all my heart, and then leaving a job and moving to be closer to him, it has been a crazy last several months. Since things are starting to settle (still looking for new employment, so keep your fingers crossed for me), I am hoping that I will be able to use that time to get back into my writing which has been neglected. Again, I am so sorry.

In any case...Holly is now at court, and she and Steven will have to live under a microscope, so to speak. Fun times, right?

I will try to get another chapter out soon, but please bear with me in the meantime.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any references made in the text.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


End file.
